Jane's Dilemma
by sweetdreams-sunnymornings
Summary: Mercenary Ranger and Rangeman in NYC at Christmas. Sometimes easy jobs go wrong. And sometimes love prevails. Babe HEA always. Complete
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: This is a new story jointly written by me, sunny d. and Tuck. You can find Tuck's other JE stories here: /u/1654937/tuck**

**It is both a Mercenary Ranger story and a Merry Man fic of sorts. If you need background on my version of Ranger, please check out my other stories here on ff.**

**Babe,HEA. Ranger and Stephanie are married. Joe Morelli is not in this story at all.**

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**We hope you all enjoy!**

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_**Standard fanfic disclaimers apply for entire story.**_

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_**Jane's Dilemma**_**~ Chapter One**

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_**Jane**_

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_**"I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel..."**_ I grinned at myself in the mirror and shut up long enough to plug in my hair dryer. I played Maria in _West Side Story_, back in high school in Newburg. I suppose the musical is politically incorrect nowadays, but what the heck, I _do_ feel pretty! I, Mary Elizabeth Jane Smith was goin' to the ball! I smiled and began humming the old Cyndi Lauper tune: _Girls just Wanna Have Fun_. I jiggled my hips and swung my ass— _"Uh justa wanna have! uh justa wanna have, Girls just a wanna have...fun!"_

Overexcited? Who, me?

My name is, as I mentioned, Jane Smith. I'm from Newburgh New York, aka Upstate New York; I am 27, single and boring —most of the time anyway. I moved here to New York City after I graduated from SUNY Binghamton with a master's degree in library science and a double minor in physics and mathematics. I work at the reference desk in the Main Public Library in Manhattan—you know, the one with the famous lion statues?—and with my godparents' help, I rent a tiny walkup flat in the West Village. I moved to the city for excitement, imagine that. But until a few weeks ago, life in the Big Apple was no more amazing than life on the farm. So to _speak,_ back home in Newburgh, I mean.

I finished my hair—sleek and straight and shiny black and began doing my eye makeup. My big violet eyes are one of my best features, along with my little nose and big, ah—nice boobs for my size, I think is what "they" say. I'm a bit too short, just 5'4" and my complexion is very fair, the paleness enhanced by my career in the bowels of the library system.

Another coat of mascara and I was almost done. My dress, a gorgeous turquoise silk from _Laundry_ by Shelli Segel, hung on the outside of the closet and I admired it for a moment. It was a gift from my godparents, really my aunt and uncle who took me in and made their home _my_ home, when my parents were killed in a car accident while I was a freshman in college. When they heard about the invitation to tonight's gala charity ball, I think they were almost as excited as I was. And when I told them about scouring the thrift shop websites for a gown—a gown! Janey in an evening gown!—they insisted I go to Saks and choose an early Christmas gift.

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**The weekend after Thanksgiving**, just three short exciting weeks ago, I was at St. Vincent Hospital, heading for my every-Saturday stint with the children in the pediatric ward. I had a big tote filled with a selection of books for a variety of ages and I think I looked forward to my reading circle performance as much as the children did. I love small children, their minds are so blessedly uncluttered and open. They want love and security and kindness. I run the children's reading hour at the library too and I hope my storytime visits give the kids as much joy as they give me.

Today, sadly, the hospital was fairly quiet, holiday weekend and all. I got on the creaky lift with a couple of young women and a man stepped quickly in behind me as the doors lumbered closed. We all faced front. One of the girls—late teens? early twenties?— said, "Could you like press 5, that's the cardiac floor."

The man pressed the button and glanced my way. He was young and muscular and handsome, I noted briefly. I said, "Oh, seven, please." He smiled at me, chose my floor and then his—8, ICU, poor guy. Someone he maybe cared for a lot was very ill.

The girls began chatting loudly as if they were alone. I dragged my eyes from the hot guy and uncomfortably eavesdropped.

The girl who had spoken to us, a scrawny blond with dark roots cocked a hip and said to her friend, "Omigod, I was just so pee-ohed the other day!"

Her girlfriend, dark wavy hair, too much lip-gloss, ten pounds overweight, said, "Oh yeah? Like what happened, Bree?"

"Remember I had to see the family for Thanksgiving dinner? My cousin was like, I don't get why you date a guy for 3 months then break up with him, then date another guy for 3 months, and so on. And I'm like, well I'm 19, I don't want to really be with any one right now."

"What a bitch! Probably she's just you know, jealous...?"

"Well it is SO none of her business..."

I gritted my teeth and tried to tune them out. Their voices and attitude rubbed me the wrong way, chalk on a blackboard, car alarm blare at 3 AM. They were so annoying to listen to...and I work with teens every day!

They giggled and snapped their gum. I thought, _Oh just shoot me now...I can't stand this._

The man jerked his head around and looked at me as if he had heard my thoughts. He nudged his black leather jacket aside and let me see the gun on his hip like an undercover policeman might wear and raised an eyebrow. And then he smiled at me. Omigod—the gun, the smile. The girls got off on 5 and I stared at him and he calmly gazed back at me, more than a hint of laughter in his eyes. I am mildly empathic but it is very rare that someone else picks up on _my_ thoughts.

The armed and possibly dangerous stranger was maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, an athletic build with bulked up shoulders and arms, like he lifted weights—or spent time in prison. Geez.

He met my eyes again and I am sure I blushed.

He said, "Visiting someone?"

"Not exactly. I read to the children in the pediatric wing." Flustered, I heard myself blurt out, "I love kids, _really_." Eyeroll at the departed teenagers. "Little kids, they speak their minds, and expect you to do the same. Especially sick kids..."

He nodded faintly, keeping eye contact. Hands nowhere near the gun.

I said, "What about you?"

He said, "No, no reading...no kids."

"I meant, are you visiting someone?"

A beat of silence then he shrugged a little. The doors opened on my floor. I smiled again, still a bit uncomfortable, and said, "Good luck."

The doors edged closed behind me and he stuck a fast foot out. He said, "Wait a sec! I didn't get your name?"

He was keeping the door from closing and the warning bell clanged. I said, "Jane Smith," and he narrowed his eyes at me. I shrugged, palms up and smiled."Mom had no imagination..."

As the door forced itself closed he said, "Lester Santos!" And he disappeared, the elevator chugging on to its destination, whisking —slowly —away the most interesting man I had met in years. Maybe—ever. Too bad.

... ... ...

**When I finished reading this week's chapter** of _Harry Potter_, I closed the book, laid it on top of the picture storybooks I read to the smaller kids. I glanced up and there he was. All six or so feet of darkly handsome, probably Hispanic male. Short dark hair, expensive clothes, killer smile. And when we sat and had bad cafeteria coffee a few minutes later, I saw that he had gorgeous light green eyes, so unusual in his dark face.

Coffee, a couple dinners—and then this invitation. I picked up the heavy white envelope and drew out the card:

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**Miss Jane Smith is cordially invited to attend**

**~The Crystal Ball~ Winter 09**

**Grand Ballroom at The Plaza Hotel**

**December 19th, 2009 **

**9 PM**

**Dinner and Dancing**

{black tie}

**all proceeds will be donated to**

**Doctors without Borders/ Medecins Sans Frontiers **

**and **

**ULTWC Fund**

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And now the moment was at hand. I slipped the dress carefully over my head and pulled up the zipper.

My cell phone rang.

**tbc**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Jane's Dilemma**_

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**A/N Tuck and I want to thank everyone who has read our story so far and very special thanks to those of you who took the time to review! Thank you!**

This story is **complete **except for a little editing. I will never post an unfinished story. We may tweak a little here and there to answer your questions so please let us know what your thoughts are? If we continue to get nice reviews and everyone enjoys the story we hope to post new chapters twice a week, unless RL and the holidays interfere. Please review! It means so much and only takes a second. Thank you**! enjoy!**

**love, sunny and Tuck**

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previously on _**Jane's Dilemma**_: _Jane__ picked up the heavy white envelope and drew out the invitation. And her cell phone rang._

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_**Jane's Dilemma~ Chapter 2**_

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_**Four weeks earlier, in Trenton, New Jersey, Ranger looks **__at the same invitation and scowls-just a faint brow furrow, of course. He hands it Stephanie who has followed him into their penthouse apartment on Haywood Street, says "An invitation to a charity ball?" _

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**[Ranger]**

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**I can't totally keep the disbelief from coloring my voice. **Ranger Manoso, gun-toting badass, does _not_ go to charity balls.

Steph looks excited and reads the fancy script. She shrugs."Doctors Without Borders and—what is ULTWC, something about literacy?"

"Universal Literacy for Third World Children," I tell her. "Ultwick."

"What?"

"It's pronounced Ull-Twick, " I repeat.

"Huh, okaaaay. Well, the gala is in Manhattan, at the Plaza! No one I know in Trenton would have sent it."

"This has my mother's sneaky hand all over it," I answer.

Steph hands me back the invitation says, "Can we go?"

"I hope not." I walk into the living room and sit down with Zoë and Killer and Monster. Ella is in the kitchen, cooking something that smells very good. Zoë is my four year old daughter, Killer is our dog, Monster is their bodyguard, an ex-KGB hitman who nods at me and gets up and leaves. Zoë and Killer are intently watching HGTV—some program about buying real estate—and don't react to my presence. I am glad Zoë is learning something useful. Last week it was cosmetic surgery, gave me the creeps—kid has a brain like a sponge. I pull out my cell and dial my mother's private line, then wait while her answering service tracks her down. She calls me back in five minutes, a record.

"Yo."

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yes. Thank you," I respond politely.

"You _never _call..." _What, she wants me to call her? _"Nevermind, Ranger. What's up?"

"I just received an invitation to a gala charity ball, sponsored by DWB and some literacy group."

"Oh good."

"You don't expect me to go, do you? I can send a check?"

"I'd really appreciate it if you would attend in person, Ranger. Please?"

I am suspicious."What, you need me to hold your hand while you schmooze with the big donors?"

A few beats of silence, then, "I'm a physician, I don't _schmooze_."

"I'm an assassin, I don't schmooze either," I respond, not missing a beat. Ooops. I add, "In fact last guy I did schmooze, he ended up dead." _Panama? Fork, eye? remember? _

More silence, then "I am going to pretend I didn't hear that."

No sense waffling at this point but I walk out of the living room and Zoë's hearing. I say, "Why? Isn't that the whole point, mom? Aren't you atoning for the sins of the men in your life, your dad? My dad? For me? You run yourself ragged fixing up kids whose daddies you believe we killed or something?"

"Don't be simplistic."

"You mean 'don't oversimplify.'"

"I know what I meant, Ranger...I believe in what I do, I hope you know that. And I respect the fact that you also are doing what you feel needs to be done, that _you_ believe in what _you _do too. We just—go about it in different ways. But I think we want the same results in the end, no matter how unlikely it is that those ends will ever become reality."

I take the phone from my ear and stare at it. _Who is this woman and what have you done with my mother? _

And something else is nagging at my mind...

"Ranger? Are you still there...?"

"Yes. So okay, the Doctors thing. But what's with this literacy campaign?"

"It's not enough to repair their broken bones, they need to be able to read the post op instructions too, Ranger. I expect you to attend and look happy while you do it."

Oh okay, Mom is back in her body...I say, "I will donate Rangeman for event security."

"Thank you!"

I bargain, "But only if I don't have to attend in person."

"Sorry, sweetheart, your wife already ordered a new gown from Versace. Olivia and I took her there last month, told her she needed something sexy to keep you interested."

"Geez, mom."

And I KNOW you own a tux."

I let that go, because a light bulb just clicked on in my brain. "Okay, so you organize and underwrite some huge charity gig—BUT you don't schmooze. Were you actually planning on showing up, mom?"

"Ah. Well, I figured Olivia"—her BFF, my aunt—"can hostess, especially if you and Stephanie and Anthony are there too. I asked Stephanie about fundraising for DWB a few months ago. She seemed good with helping out, said it was such a good cause."

"And you'd be...?"

"Well, I am sure I'd be on call or have an emergency or something." She sighed audibly."Oh okay, I figured I'd just write a check, too. Okay? Are you happy? I admit it... I am very busy , Ranger, I do have patients and commitments, you know."

"Oh yeah. Commitments. Listen, mom. If I can go, then you can go."

"But..."

"Do we have a deal?

"...Sure. Really, sweetheart, don't worry! Just show up in your tux and look hot, okay? it will be fine. You'll be the prettiest guy at the ball."

I hang up on her. "Steph?"

Zoë says from the other room, "Daddy, what's an ass-ass? In? Is that a bad word?"

... ... ... ...

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**[Jane]**

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**To****night was the night!** With a tiny frisson of excitement Jane set down the invitation and picked up her ringing cell phone."This is Jane."

"This is Lester..."

"Oh hey, I didn't check caller ID...um, is everything okay?"

Brief pause. "Well, that's why I'm calling, chica. I have an emergency—and—I can't make it tonight. I wasn't able to call you sooner, I'm really sorry."

Silence from Jane.

"Look, Janey, sweetheart, I am so sorry. I have a business emergency and have to go to...um, I'm in...um, well."

"What? We had a date! The gala?" Jane sounded like she might cry and across the thousands of miles separating them, Lester Santos stifled a cringe.

The doorbell rang.

Jane said, "Just a sec, there's someone at the door..."

"Wait! That's the thing, Jane. I asked my cousin Anthony to take you to the party, he should be there about now."

Jane swung the door open and stared at the man in her hallway. He gave her a thousand watt smile and despite herself she got tingly and found herself smiling back. To Lester she said, "Blond cornrows, cashmere topcoat over Armani tux? 'Bout your age? Really hot?"

Lester sighed audibly. "Yeah..."

"Oh he's definitely here, Lester."

"But..." Jane hung up on Lester, held out a hand and said, "Hi, I'm Jane Smith."

The man took her hand gently, said, "Anthony Stewart."

They exchanged polite smiles again then the young man's eyes drifted to CNN which was broadcasting from Afghanistan where a Taliban suicide bomber has blown up a CIA operations base. The commentator was saying, "As many as eighteen CIA operatives are believed killed or injured in the blast..." Lester's cousin's smile faded for a second.

Jane tried to read her guest but found no hint of his thoughts. Surprised she glanced at him again. He said, "Ready to rock 'n' roll, Jane Smith?"

She nodded, clicked off the TV and he wrapped her pashmina shawl around her shoulders.

_Mmmm,_ thought Jane_, big warm gentle hands..._

His smile returned, got wider.

_Omigod_

_._...

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[Lester]

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_She hung up on me! She freakin' hung up on me! I am gonna kill Anthony, that man-slut!_

I must be huffing or fuming because the RMPMC—Rangeman Private Military Corporation, Ranger's off-shore army! (sigh)—operative driving the shiny black Hummer looks at me and says, "Sir?"

There's enough light from the full moon, the effin' blue moon, fer chrissakes, that I can see I am making the guy nervous. Maybe the full blue moon is making the religious nuts crazy too—what kind of idiot does a suicide bomb, just answer me that?

I say to the driver, "Why, out of all the God-forsaken shitholes, do we have to meet here?"

The RM dude shrugs, "This is A-stan, sir... One place's just as good as another."

_Or as bad._

Rangeman operator catches my expression, adds, "Or as bad. You know what the boss says about A-stan, right? Goat shit and caves, it's all goat shit and caves."

Right now I am not in the mood for words of wisdom from our fearless leader, currently known as Ranger Manoso. He knew I had a big date with Jane, that it was special...But _no_, he can't come out here right now today, because he promised his mom. His mom! Okay, scary lady and a mom-promise is a promise but still. And then Ranger volunteered Anthony to escort Jane! Like Jane's gonna ever talk to me again, right, after an evening with my cousin. Family shit really sucks.

I say idly, "What the fuck does he expect me to do here anyway?"

"I believe you are in charge of, ah—retributionary action, sir."

_Is that even a word?_

"Do you think this is who I am? I am a professional—uh, well. Well, not an assassin anyways. I don't kill people I don't have to."

_Although..._

"Yeah but here's the thing about A-stan, somebody has to, sir. And since the boss didn't make it I guess that's you. Sir."

_Oh, geez. _

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Jane's Dilemma**

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**a/n: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! **

**love, sunny and Tuck**

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_**previously on Jane's Dilemma:**_

"I just received an invitation to a gala charity ball, sponsored by DWB and some literacy group."

"Oh good."

"You don't expect me to go, do you? I can send a check?"

"I'd really appreciate it if you would attend in person, Ranger. Please?"

"I will donate Rangeman for event security."

"Thank you!"

I bargain, "But only if I don't have to attend in person."

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**Chapter Three**

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**_back in Trenton NJ, on a Tuesday in early December, 8AM._**

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**[Ranger]**

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**''Daddydaddydaddy!" My 4 year old daughter Zoë stopped **short and surveyed me critically, tiny fists on tiny hips. "Oh! Daddy! Why are you dressed for the gym? Today is our day off! You promised and now look, you are all sweaty."

"Baby, I like to run, you know that." Run a few miles, lift some free weights, start my day off right...

"How far did you run, daddy?"

_Not far enough?_

"Six miles. Like if I ran to your grandma and grandpa's house in the Burg."

"And back?"

"No."

"So how did you get home?"

"I'm gonna shower, Zoe, then we'll discuss our day off, okay."

"Huh! Oh okay, daddy_."_

I showered and dressed in black Rangeman fatigues and I went to the kitchen where Zoë was presiding over the breakfast table. Steph was sitting there bleary-eyed, reading an FTA file and guzzling coffee. I kissed each one on the top of their curly heads and sat down. Magically an egg white omelet and whole grain toast and tea appeared in front of me. I smiled up at Ella who patted my shoulder and said, "You'll need your strength, Ranger. Eat up."

Steph looked at me quizzically. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"Yes. Why don't you ditch the skip and come with, it will be fun."

Yeah. I can read her mind, she was saying _Are you fucking crazy?_

I said, "Zoe, do you want to go on a road trip today?"

"Yes! Just you and me?"

"Yes, unless your mom changes her mind and comes along." I leaned over and stage whispered to Zoë, "We're gonna case a joint, baby."

Big eyes."What does that mean, daddy?"

"It means your daddy is an idiot," said Stephanie.

"I am not an idiot, babe. I'm a rebel —a daddy who likes to play tea party—you're the idiot. You'd rather roll in garbage than have tea at the Palm Court."

Zoë said, "My teacher says it's not nice to call someone an idiot."

"Then your teacher must not be from Jersey, honey," said Steph, always the good mom. Steph turned to me and went on, "Just make sure Zoë knows how to use the video function of her phone; we'll see how cool you look in a pink storybook setting. Sitting on an itty bitty pink chair."

"Where, daddy?"

"It's a surprise."

"Noooo."

"Yes." I threw my napkin by my empty plate and pushed away from the table. "C'mon. You gotta look pretty for daddy." I took her hand and we went into her excruciatingly pink bedroom to brush her teeth and choose her clothes. Sometimes she looks at me when I tuck her into the big pink queen-sized "little girl's" bed and I am pretty sure she is laughing her ass off at all this girly shit, like someday we're gonna come home and she'll be dressed Goth and have painted this place black.

A man can only hope.

"Should I wear something like for school, daddy?"

"No, sweetie, this is school break." Nursery school, that is. "Let's find you something special." After much discussion I dressed her in a Betsey Johnson outfit, little black skirt with pink frilly under thing—crinoline?—black long sleeve t-shirt with a silver skull surf logo (Did Uncle Anthony give you this? /Yes! It's Roxy, isn't it cool? / Uh-huh.), a tiny black hoodie, black tights, black UGGS—and then left her to Britta to tame the curls while I changed into jeans, a black sweater and a black leather jacket.

Just as I was slipping a DVD into my inside pocket and checking my weapons, Britta appeared with Zoë in tow. "Do you want me to come along, Ranger? Bathroom breaks and so on?" Britta is our au pair. I said, "No, I'll figure it out, enjoy your day off."

"Daddy, can Killer come with us? He'll be sad if he's home alone all day."

The little pug in his pink sequined harness looked sadly at me. I knew it was a con, the dog wanted a cookie. I said, "No. Give him a hug and a doggy cookie. He'll take a nap."

"He just woke up!"

"Trust me."

We kissed Steph and Killer the pug good-bye, collected Zoë's bodyguard Arkady Petrovich aka Monster from the comm room and went downstairs where Uncle Tank was manning a Mercedes limo that we had borrowed from Uncle Anthony. The stretch Merc was tasteful and comfortable if a rather odd possession for a 27 year old badass. I worried for a second that my covert brother was getting stodgy, then shrugged it off. _Probably NOT,_ I laughed to myself.

Zoë picked up on my amusement and smiled back at me.

"Is this a pretty car, daddy?"

"I'm not sure, what do you think?"

"It's okay, it's black. And it has a TV."

"Yeah." The limo had a DVD player and I stuck in the disc. I said, "Part one of our assignment, baby. _Eloise at the Plaza_."

Yes, we were headed to NYC to do a security check on The Plaza premises, a preliminary recon before I planned the details for my mother's charity thing which was to take place in a couple of weeks.

With Zoë engrossed in the story of the lonely little girl Eloise who lives (lived?—is she, like, a ghost or what?) alone at The Plaza with her little pug Weenie and her turtle whose name escapes me, I placed a call to the head of security at the famous landmark hotel. I explained (again) who I was and what I was going to be doing there that day. The man was effusively helpful and promised to do everything he could to help Rangeman with event security.

I hung up with the man and leaned back, watching the DVD with half an eye, thinking about Zoë and her day off. Actually it was two days off, and while I enjoy my baby's company, I find it hard to imagine what parent-teacher conferences for 4 year olds could possibly entail. Our meeting was scheduled for tomorrow. Stephanie had been very stressed about going and surprised that I planned to attend. She said, "I'm nervous but I can do it, Ranger."

"I want to go, my dad always went to my school conferences."

"How can you possibly want to go? All they do is complain about the kid, it's very upsetting!"

"Why would they complain about Zoë? She's a sweetheart, she's smart and well-behaved and very friendly..."

"Oh, Jesus, Ranger. They'll complain because she reads all her storybooks too fast or because she watches CNN and knows about current events. Or because her bodyguard is scary or she ties her shoes funny, I don't know. There's always something! Didn't your teachers complain about you?"

"I don't think so. I wasn't born wearing two guns and a knife, Steph. If they complained my dad never said so."

"What about your mom?"

"She was busy."

Steph let a couple beats go past then she said, "But still..."

I shrugged. "Don't worry. If the teacher gives us a hard time I'll shoot her in the foot."

"Don't even joke about it! And don't bring your guns! Geez."

... ... ...

**"Daddy?"**

**"Yes, Zoë?"**

"I think we're here. This looks just like the place in my movie."

I dragged my attention back to the present and saw that yes, we were parked out front of The Plaza Hotel at the Fifth Avenue entrance.

I pressed the intercom button and said, "Tank, can you just double park or something. Keep your eyes open?"

"Yes, boss."

"Arkady, you come with."

_"Da_, Ranger."

Arkady got out and opened the door for Zoë, holding her hand until I slid out behind her and took over. His hand not holding onto Zoë's hand was resting on the Glock on his hip and I subtly shook my head, telegraphing that I wanted a low-key coverage. Zoë and I walked up the famous, familiar marble steps and entered the lobby, Petrovich (somewhat) discreetly at our heels.

"Daddy! There it is! It's—Eloise's special place! Her—store!" Zoë sounded a little confused and I made a mental note to bring her back to stay as soon as the new Eloise suite was opened early next year. Maybe when she (_sigh_) graduates from nursery school next May?

I passed my business card to the concierge as we passed and asked him to tell the security chief to meet me in the Eloise shop ASAP.

"Certainly, sir."

Any conflict of logic that had attacked Zoë when she saw that "Eloise" had a shop instead of a hotel room was gone in a second when we walked through the pink doors of ELOISE-A Shop at The Plaza. And her deep fascination with all thing girly kept her happily occupied while I discussed the fundraising event with the Plaza security man. The Eloise staff, accustomed to wealthy customers and armed bodyguards, happily set about sharing all the charms of the little store with my excited daughter.

Arkady didn't blend but he did a good imitation of a tree and stood in stoic silence, his concentration totally on Zoë and her safety.

A couple hours later, we exited the shop, shopping bags filled with presents—an Eloise t-shirt for Zoë, an Eloise nightshirt for Steph, a stuffed toy Weenie-the-pug for Killer, Zoe's own pug, and an extremely adorable and very costly Eloise doll that looked like it belonged in a glass case. I talked my way out of a pink silk Eloise necktie for daddy and at the last minute, I threw in a couple of the books and a coloring book and crayons. The huge pink bags were bestowed upon me to carry—they were almost as big as Zoë and Arkady refused, "Need my gun hand free, boss." Like I don't?

The salesladies had taken Zoë to the shop's (I am guessing) adorably pink bathroom, so that issue was solved. We stood for a second in the enormous lobby, regrouping.

"Daddy, I'm hungry!"

"Me too," said Arkady.

I nodded. "Sure..." Zoë skipped over to the menus posted in a glass display case and was reading. Yeah, maybe Steph is right, the teachers will complain. "Lookit, daddy! This place, this—Damn-All Bakery—it has CAKE! Lotsa cake!"

The Demel Austrian Bakery...hmmm. Cake, coffee, wine. Canapés...! I said, "Let's try the Palm Court, baby. It has more room, Monster and I can stretch out our legs." Maybe we can get the wait staff to bring us some real food up from the Oak Room.

Zoë happily agreed, as the Palm Court featured large in Eloise's tales. The maitre d' looked at me like he knew me— hard to believe, I hadn't been here in years and years. I ordered the afternoon tea which comes with little sandwiches, not cake and my request for chicken Caesar salads for me and Arkady was cheerfully agreed to. He and Zoë had Cokes, while I was left to enjoy the real brewed Earl Grey tea.

Relaxed and happy, I stuck out a foot and nudged Arkady. "Next time, we'll go around the corner to the Russian Tea Room, my man. I'll let you be off duty so you can have frozen vodka and blinis with Beluga caviar. Just like in the old country."

His tired Russian eyes got a faraway look in them, sadness not anticipation. He said in Russian, "Only the vodka was a part of the Russia I once knew, my boy. But perhaps it would be—interesting."

Zoë leaned over and patted his knee very gently with her little hand. "Don't be sad, Monster. I bet they'll bring you vodka right here! We can ask."

"I have no secrets, do I, little girl? You speak my mother tongue as well as I do."

Zoë smiled at him and told the server, "My friend would like some vodka, please."

"Yes, miss. Straight up or rocks?"

"He wants it straight up, frozen."

"Yes miss."

... ... ...

We ate, Arkady drank a bit, and Zoë chattered. She got out her crayons and coloring book and colored. I had considered other stops today—FAO Schwartz across the street, Juicy Couture down Fifth Ave. Maybe Rockefeller Center for some skating? But despite her usual boundless energy and sunny nature I could see that Zoë was flagging a bit. And she certainly didn't need more clothes or toys.

We finished our Plaza day with a stroll through the old historic lobby, fifteen minutes of recon for me and Rangeman. Then we called Tank and five minutes later piled back in the Mercedes.

"Did you kids have fun?" Tank asked.

"Yes!" yelled Zoë. "Everything was PINK!"

"Imagine that."

I handed him a takeout bag with a chicken sandwich and a coffee, told him to do drive by Rockefeller Center so Zoë could get a glimpse of the tree. And before we hit the tunnel to Jersey she and Arkady were sound asleep. Tank caught my eye in the rear view and smiled, shook his head a little. Yeah, that's me, Badass daddy.

Zoë woke up when I carried her into the elevator at Rangeman. She sat up in my arms and hugged me. "Daddy, I had so much fun today!"

I hugged her back. "I'm glad."

"Can we go again?"

"Someday."

We stopped at five and Arkady and Tank got off the elevator. When the doors shut and we were alone, Zoë said, "Daddy?"

"Hmmm?"

"I feel sad for Eloise."

"Why?"

"She has a pug doggy like me and lots of friends like me, but she doesn't have a daddy ... or a mommy."

Yeah it's a flaw in the stories. "I think her parents were out of town."

Zoë thought about that. "But still."

Yeah. But still.

tbc

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a/n 2 ff doesn't allow links, but you can google **Eloise Shop at The Plaza **to see the shop; same for **Palm Court at The Plaza **and for **Russian Tea Room.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Jane's Dilemma**_

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_**Previously on Jane's Dilemma: **__Lester's cousin said, "Ready to rock 'n' roll, Jane Smith?" She nodded, clicked off the TV and he wrapped her pashmina shawl around her shoulders._

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**_[Jane, on her way to the ball!]_**

**_._**

_**Chapter Four **_

**_Anthony Stewart and I_ made get-to-know-you chitchat **for the fifteen minutes it took the limousine to drive us from West 13th Street to Fifth Ave and Central Park South. Given the rather over-the-top, rock star looks of Lester's cousin Anthony, I was relieved that the car was a tasteful black stretch Mercedes and not an enormous Hummer limo or stretch Escalade. The big black luxury car did have vanity plates, **X Y X**, and was staffed by two large men in black who bore a startling resemblance to Secret Service agents. Anthony ignored the men, ushered me inside, poured champagne into crystal flutes. The interior was dim and, though spacious, seemed somehow cozy, intimate. Anthony sat a polite couple inches from me. I could smell new leather seats and a faint hint of warm cashmere and expensive cologne or aftershave. Anthony touched his glass to mine, said, "To new friends," and proceeded to expertly give me the third degree.

I explained about meeting Lester at the hospital, my interest in children and literacy, books and reading in general. "And then Lester was invited to this party tonight and since it is sponsored by a literacy group, he thought I'd enjoy going."

"And he needed a beautiful date."

I laughed. "Oh sure, that too."

**We arrived at the fabled Plaza Hotel before** I could give him an inquisition in return. The hotel was festively decorated, the canopy covered with tiny twinkle lights, evergreens with red velvet bows lined the low marble stairs to the golden entrance. Anthony seemed to find the hotel's magnificence uninteresting, but I wanted to look at everything, my head not swiveling like a tourist only through force of will. A firm but gentle hand on my elbow steered me to the tiny coat check room, then through the rotunda that formed the lobby, over the priceless oriental carpets, on towards a sweeping staircase that I guessed led to the recently renovated Grand Ballroom.

As we neared the head of the stairs I looked, looked again and said, "I think those are metal detectors!" Guests were filing through the only slightly disguised steel stanchions as if they were entering an airport. A few strands of white fairy lights and some greenery could not hide their purpose and didn't even really try.

Anthony said, "You work at the Main Library, they have metal detectors there, don't they?"

'Well, yes...but—I've never been to a _party_ with metal detectors."

"You have now." He aimed me at the gateway and I walked through with no incident. Anthony however, stopped and showed some type of credentials, unbuttoned his dinner jacket to display a shoulder holster and a black hand gun. The good-looking young guards in their formal black suits grinned and waved him in.

"What exactly do you do, Anthony?"

"I'm a banker..." he answered absently. "Mom, I'd like you to meet Jane Smith, Jane—my mother, Olivia Stewart." We had made it to the receiving line and I was being kissed on the cheek by a beautiful blond woman in a sparkling silver gown. She also hugged and kissed Anthony then turned and said, "Jane, this is my co-hostess, Elizabeth Mann. She is a surgeon with DWB. Liz, this is Lester's Jane, Jane Smith.'' Another beautiful woman of a certain age, though neither seemed old or matronly. Dr. Mann was dressed in body hugging black—Armani from the cover of last month's Vogue. She smiled politely and touched my hand, said, "My son and daughter in law, Stephanie and Carlos Manoso."

I shook hands with a beautiful tall young woman in an amazing black gown. And turned to greet the husband. Omigod. Two things struck me as I briefly touched his hand. One was psychic, a barrage of power, almost instantly clamped down and hidden. And the rest was, I don't even know—Lester, for example, is a hot guy; Anthony is a very hot guy. This man was hot too, only more so. He looked like a movie star or model, all dark intense eyes and flawless light brown skin, the same costly tailoring that Anthony wore, the same hint of danger.

This all ran through my brain at warp speed. Controlling my discomfort, I glanced at Anthony who was by now kissing Stephanie on the cheek. The air between the two went all electric and strange and instead of air-kissing her cheek, Anthony brushed his mouth over the woman's full red lips.

They locked eyes and smiled at each other. Then Anthony smoothly turned to Mr. Manoso and they bumped fists, then guy-hugged.

_What the heck just happened?_

Anthony, who now that I was seeing him in the lights of the ballroom, was pretty amazing and hot himself, said, "Let me introduce you around. Hey, Mike—Jane, this is Mayor Mike Bloomberg."

Bloomberg smiled his elfin grin and spoke briefly to me. Very pleasant, interested in libraries for the city...

We acquired more champagne and danced. I met judges, DC bigwigs: Cabinet members, the head of the FBI, the Director of Homeland Security. Mayors: Philadelphia, Boston, Newark, Jersey City, Atlantic City; and Governors: New York, New Jersey, Massachsetts. My small-town head was spinning. Oddly there seemed a dearth of the shallow socialite types I'd expected, but there were regular, non-politico people there too, including what seemed to me to be an unusual number of hot men. Sports celebrities,maybe?-like a handsome African American man who looked like a football player and his fiancée, a stunning black woman in a very tight lime green gown.

And a very attractive middle-aged Latino couple whom Anthony addressed as _Tia_ and _Tio—_the woman petite, voluptuous and stunning, with light green eyes and huge diamonds, the man with that cosmopolitan Latin air-Juan and Angela Santos. _Lester's parents?_

After awhile Anthony said, "Let's get you some more champagne. And maybe some snacks? Man, I'm, like, starved." We stood by the table that held an array of exquisite canapés.

I said, "Aren't there an awful lot of famous people here?"

"Our dads were involved in politics. Right, Carlito?" Carlos Manoso and his wife were nearby, Stephanie eating shrimp and licking her fingers, most of the men looking—uncomfortably intrigued. Her husband watched her with an air of indulgent amusement and hot eyes.

Hearing his name, the gorgeous Mr. Manoso stared at Anthony then glanced at me. Tiny shrug. "Maybe."

Stephanie popped a miniature crepe in her mouth and then helplessly waggled her fingers til she swallowed. "Ooops, sorry. Ranger, why don't you have a dance with Jane, I am sure Anthony can keep me out of trouble for awhile."

Manoso said to Anthony in Spanish, "Good luck, hermano."

They grinned and something crashed to the floor behind me. Stephanie, said, "Go, go! Enjoy."

"Ms Smith? May I?" He took my hand and steered me into the crowd. The music was retro and sultry, his body closer than I expected and moving with smooth perfection.

After a few silent moments, he said, "I regret that Lester was unable to bring you tonight. His absence was unavoidable under the circumstances, Ms Smith."

"Jane."

He looked disinterested but he nodded a little and politely said, "Jane."

"So what do Lester's whereabouts have to do with you?"

"Lester works for me, so I'm afraid it is my fault he had to be—elsewhere—tonight. Usually I would have taken the job myself but _(sigh_), I promised my mother."

"She is very lovely. I understand she is a doctor?"

"Pediatric reconstructive surgeon. She has a practice here in New York but mostly works with _Medecins sans Frontiers_." His French accent sounded perfect.

I said, "So go on about Lester. He only told me he works in the domestic security field—the, um, management sector, I think was how he phrased it."

Manoso neutrally responded, "That's one way to put it."

I said, "I was thinking house alarms and so on."

"We do that. Among other things."

_Other things that require you and Anthony to wear guns to your mothers' Christmas party?_ I thought. He looked at me hard, as if he'd intuited my thought or expression. I couldn't read him much at all—or Anthony either—nothing really since that first odd instant and the flicker of indifference a moment ago. But it seemed like he could read me. He must have caught that thought too because his eyes narrowed and he looked more closely into my eyes for just a second. I got chills, not entirely intimidation tremors either, because let me tell you, this man is H. O. T. hot!

Stephanie appeared, whirling to stop in Anthony's arms.

She smiled and said, "You're scaring her!"

It wasn't just him, it was the shoulder holster and gun I could feel under my hand on his shoulder, as he held me for the slow dance.

The moment was broken by a sudden flurry of activity at the ballroom entrance. The sudden appearance of a half dozen men in black, then:

_**"Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome the First Lady and the President of the United States !"**_

tbc

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To see Jane's house and neighborhood: Google: **East 13th Street, Greenwich Village NYC**. *If you zoom all the way in Google Earth actually shows her block, possibly in 3-D of sorts depending on your program...

To see the hotel: **Plaza Hotel, NYC: /Grand Ballroom at Plaza Hotel**


	5. Chapter 5

**Jane's Dilemma **

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**A/n:** Tuck and I want to thank everyone who has been reading our story! Special huge extra thanks to everyone who takes the time to review! We LOVE reviews.

Today's chapter is a bit of holiday fluff... The next chapter will be posted later on Saturday evening, so we can all enjoy the holidays! Happy Holidays!

love, sunny & Tuck

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_**Chapter Five**_

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_**NYC, the morning of the gala ball**_

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_**[Ranger]**_

_**.**_

_**"**__**Puffed! The magic dragon**__ lived by da SEA! And wallowed in the Aw Tum missed in a land called Harmony! Leetle Jackie Schaeffer loved his Rascal Puffed! And ..."_

I wince and huddle deeper into my waterproof Rangeman hoodie.

_"...brought him strings and ceiling whacks!_...What's _ceiling whacks_, Monster?"

"I do not know, little one. This is probably, how do you say it? An Americanism."

"Huh." The singing resumes_."An' other awesome stuff!"_ I wince again. You can hear my daughter Zoë coming a mile away, no way did she inherit my stealth genes. My daughter is very very cute. Maybe even someday she'll be beautiful, though since she looks like me, I suppose I shouldn't mention that? But the child cannot sing a note. This came as a bit of a shock to me—everyone in my family can sing a little. _Not that we do_. But we...

"Daddy! Daddydaddydaddy!" A tiny wet red-slickered bundle rounds a bend in the Central Park pathway and flings itself—herself—into my arms. "Hi, Daddy!"

"Baby."

We are in NYC for a long weekend, to attend my mother's charity thing. It is December. One of Steph's skips, a former showgirl, has bestowed upon Steph tickets to the Rockettes Christmas show at Radio City. Out of gratitude, go figure. We decided to make it a family getaway, pretend to be normal and so on. Which means a massive suite at the Four Seasons Hotel and an entourage including my younger daughter, her nanny Britta, and her bodyguard Arkady Petrovich, aka Monster. It also meant that I had to trade in the two balcony seat tickets and cough up big bucks for five seats right up front. Oh no, six. Anthony wants to go too.

What, you didn't really expect me to stay at the Plaza, did you?

The day of the charity ball has dawned cold, grey and misty, hence I suppose the line about Puff the Magic Dragon and "autumn mist". Little did I know. After breakfast Zoë insisted on her promised trip to the Central Park Zoo and the Alice in Wonderland statue nearby. She had seen the recent film of _Alice_ and loved the books. Zoë can be pretty focused on her goal and Stephanie was looking a little crazy so I sent Zoë off to the park with Arkady and Britta, promising to catch up later. This gave me and Steph some personal time to enjoy our luxury suite's mammoth bed and infinity whirlpool bath.

An hour or so later I wave Steph off to her pre-party spa thing...something called a Big Apple antioxidant wrap? Steph told me the treatment starts with a full body scrub made with apples and brown sugar. After we have a detailed discussion about full body things using brown sugar—Steph's eyes get huge and blue and...well— "Later," she promises.

I put on my rain jacket, check my guns and head out to find my little family. Maybe we'll go to Serendipity Two for lunch or for hot frozen chocolate. Frozen hot chocolate? Or—I did promise Monster a trip to Petrossian, didn't I? Or—Russian Tea Room? I vaguely wonder if Zoë will eat caviar. _Probably_, I decide.

Now I scoop up and hug a wet but happy Zoë. She is dressed in the red slicker, little red boots, little black ruffled skirt, red and black striped tights. Wild hair. Scarlet cheeks. She hugs my neck and says, "There was a dragon in the park! With Alice!"

I stare at Monster who won't meet my eye. Britta looks shifty too, gives me a nervous smile.

"And the dragon wanted to take my picture because he said his models looked like _crap_."

"Crap?" I ask. Arkady shrugs, Britta frowns at Zoë.

"Yes! Like drowned skinny rats, he told us. In the rain. But daddy, they were modeling raincoats! Ugly. With brown plaid, eeew. And they had doggies. Not as good as Killer but nice little doggies. And the doggies had rain hats! And coats. And boots! Too bad Killer had to stay home he could have modeled too! Do you think Killer would like leeeetle tiny doggy boots?

''No.''

''But daddy.''

''No.''

"So I was up on the mushroom...you know Alice's mushroom?"

"Uh huh." And I guess I was lucky she wasn't singing the old Jefferson Airplane song _Go Ask Alice_. You know, _one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small but the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all._...?

"So I was up on the mushroom with Alice and the Caterpillar and the Rabbit and the Mad Hatter was there too, it was so cool, daddy! And I was petting the doggies and the Dragon stomped over and he was gonna yell at me." Big scared eyes...

_Drama queen._

''Uh huh.''

"And Monster started to tell him to fu-um, go away, it's a public place, but the Dragon, man, he was blowing smoke! Just like Puffed! (I think he smokes something, daddy. Or maybe it was 'cos it's cold out?) And then he got a good look at me and did a dragon smile."

She makes a grimace, lots of tiny white teeth. Puffs out a bunch of white condensation.

''Eeew,'' I say, with echoes form Arkady and Britta.

"Yes! Eeeew." She nods. "And he stood there and he said, _There can be only one_...then he talked some language I don't know." Zoë looks miffed. "Not Spanish or Russian. And he was looking at me, then he looked at Monster again and then they hugged, daddy! Huh? Hello? The Dragon hugs the Monster?" She smiles at me.

"Arkady?" I cut my eyes to my daughter's bodyguard, former Russian hitman Arkady Petrovich.

He makes a hands-up, helpless gesture.

"And then the Dragon wanted to take my picture with the big girls and the doggies! He had a funny way of talking, daddy, like Count Chocula, on Sesame."

"Arkady?"

"No pictures, Ranger. I didn't let him take photos."

"Good thing because if you did I'd have to..._kill you_." I say the _kill you_ in Romanian just to see, because I was getting a pretty good idea of who the dragon was.

Arkady shrugs.

I say, "There's only one Dragan I can think of, my friend."

"Yeah. And he's reinvented himself as a gay fashion photographer, go figure," agrees Arkady.

"He didn't look happy to me, Monster. He looked..._ahhhn-gwished_. In a la-di-dah sort of way."

Britta mumbles, "I don't think he was gay, though..."

By now we have retraced the route to the famous Alice in Wonderland statue.

Where Romanian special ops officer Dragan Dardasqu' is indeed running a photo shoot in the now pouring rain.

The little dogs see us and yip madly, run to Zoë who kneels to hug them. A sodden Pekinese, a slick dachshund, a wet-mop Yorkie. All wearing little freaking boots. Raincoats. Rain hats.

The "dragon" looks out from behind his huge camera, sees me...and tosses the expensive equipment to the wet ground. "Ranger! My man! Oh my freakin god, boy! Save me. Please." New York-meets-Romania accent, just like Zoë said.

"I may shoot you instead. You can't take photographs of my daughter, idiot."

"We haven't seen each other in, what ?—five, six years and you call me idiot?"

"I can call you _dead man_ instead."

"Daddy?" Zoë sounds worried. I give her my best bullshit reassuring smile.

"She is adorable, my colonel. She should be in the industry, does she have an agent?"

" She's four years old, asswipe. And she's my daughter."

"Ah. Well...So, no agent?"

I stare him down.

"Look, daddy, the dragon is dressed all in black! See how his jacket is shiny dragon scales?" Dragan is wearing some sort of, well, _gay_ black suede snakeskin jacket. Wet of course. "But if he got rid of that he'd look like one of the guys. Only cuter," says Zoë. Britta nods.

Zoë and Britta smile up at Dragan who is a few years younger than me, a few inches shorter, a little less lethal. But still. He has very long black hair, five o'clock shadow going on third day, blue-black under his pale olive skin. Exotic tilted light green eyes, probably what made Zoë think _dragon_, that and the scaly leather jacket.

Killer smile. So to speak.

I sigh. "Do I need to be concerned because you're here, Drag?" He is, or was, a fine mercenary, a gun for hire like Arkady and myself. Only crazier.

"No, no. I am, how do you say? reformed? reinvented?"

"Gay?''

"You know well I am not that way, man."

"It's a figure of speech."

"I am aware. But..." He picks up his gear, looks a little defeated..

"You need a job, Drag?"

He waves his hand at the fashion fiasco. "Heh heh heh. I don't think so, Ranger. I have a career now. I'm good at it. It pays a LOT."

"Probably I pay better."

"And you won't look like an ass," adds Arkady.

I hand him my card. "I'm working a gig at The Plaza tonight. Black tie."

"Something to think about," he murmurs in his odd Romanian Count Dracula voice.

I turned to Zoë. "Baby, let's go. We're having hot chocolate at Serendipity."

"Okay!"

"Frozen hot chocolate, baby."

"But I'm cold!"

"Then you can have regular hot."

"Is the Dragon gonna come?"

"Maybe someday, chica."

Britta sighs.

We men bump fists and walk away, Zoë waving madly, the models waving back. Dragan stands silently, a pillar of darkness. Our eyes lock again and he gives me a tiny nod.

I hold Zoë's little cold wet hand and say, "Good find, chica. Good find."

* * *

Here are fun links so you can see the holiday weekend places. FF won't post links so you can either copy/ paste or google them.

Ranger, Stephanie and Zoe's **NYC December weekend**:

Spa: **Four Seasons Hotel New York - Spa : Body treatments**

Alice in Wonderland statue: **Alice in Wonderland Sculpture in Central Park**

Central Park Children'sZoo: images

Serendipity Three: **/listings/restaurant/serendipity-3/**

Petrossian:

Radio City Music Hall Christmas Show:

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**Puff The Magic Dragon **by Peter , Paul & Mary

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea  
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee

Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff,  
and brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff. Oh

_[that's enough of that!, lol.]_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Jane's Dilemma**_

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**for those of you with questions or concerns:**

**a/n: **Jane's Dilemma while frothy, festive, and fun, also examines the **themes of sexual attraction and even love of/ for more than one perso**n. It builds on the original premise of the JE triangle and Stephanie loving both Joe and Ranger. She has moved forward, and Joe is not an issue...but just as Jane is attracted to Lester _and_ Anthony, and both Ranger and Anthony love Steph, Anthony can also find Jane appealing-and possible.** And Jane has her own dilemma: _Love the one you're with? Or...?_**

However in my world, Ranger and Stephanie are truly partners: work, love, life, family -and totally committed. And Anthony loves both Ranger and Steph...so all will be well in Mercenary Ranger-land. **HEA.**

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_**Thank you for reviewing! We love hearing from you!**_

_**l**__**ove, sunny & Tuck**_

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_**Previously on Jane's Dilemma: **__Steph appeared, whirling to stop in Anthony's arms. She smiled and said, "You're scaring her!"_

_It wasn't just him, it was the shoulder holster and gun I could feel under my hand on his shoulder, as he held me for the slow dance. The moment was broken by a sudden flurry of activity at the ballroom entrance. The sudden appearance of a half dozen men in black, then:_

_"Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome The President of the United States and the First Lady!"—_

_**Chapter 6**_

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_**[Jane, at the ball]**_

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**There was a momentary hum** of surprise and excitement, then warm applause welcomed the President and First Lady. The gala's hostesses hurried to the entrance to greet them. Maybe a lot of these people were used to seeing the President but I know I was staring wide-eyed at the familiar figures of our president and the First Lady. And I was subliminally aware of a frozen moment of something—shock? anger? from both Anthony Stewart and Carlos Manoso. Manoso made pointed eye contact with Anthony, then Stephanie, said, "Excuse me," and strode to the entrance of the ballroom where his mother and aunt were happily greeting the President and his beautiful wife. Anthony hooked a hand through my arm and from the glare she gave him, I guessed he had done the same to Stephanie. His hand was gentle but compelling, and like Stephanie I was momentarily annoyed. _What did he think I might do? Run over screaming like a fangirl and beg for an autograph, or what?_ He glanced down at me and smiled and despite myself I felt myself relax and return his smile.

We watched the exchanged smiles and handshakes.

... ... ...

_**[Ranger]**_

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**I had not expected the President** nor had I been briefed on his plans. My men know the drill though and they move silently and professionally into position to back up the presidential Secret Service team. I swiftly approach the small group—my mother, my aunt Olivia, the First Couple and a few hangers on—getting a cool nod from the Secret Service agent-in-charge who recognizes me immediately. And raises an eyebrow. The President is saying, "Good evening, good to see you again, Olivia. Dr. Mann," giving both women a polite air kisses on the cheek.

My mother says, "Welcome! Both of you...Oh, call me Elizabeth, please, Mr. President." Everyone shakes hands, then she adds, "Thank you for joining us tonight, Mr. President. You know my son Carlos, I believe."

We shake hands. The President makes eye contact, looking somewhat quizzically at me. He knows he knows me, he just doesn't expect to find me at a charity ball.

I know just how he feels.

The First Lady smiles her brilliant smile and the President says jovially, "I never pictured you having a mother, Colonel."

_I know! Me either,_ I think.

I answer, "I understand, sir. Raised by wolves, right?" And stare at my mother.

The President laughs, "Well, no, but..."

Olivia intervenes, "Let's get you both some champagne, sir. Ma'am. And..."

She links arms with the couple and gently steers them away from any brewing trouble or social pitfalls. When they are out of earshot and the music begins again, I say to my mom, "So this is why you wanted me here?"

"Not the _only_ reason, but..."

I interrupt her waffling. "So—what? You hung me out to dry for your own agenda?"

She shrugs."Surely he knows who you are."

I stare at her in disbelief, she has to know better, she was a CIA spook's wife for years. I say, "Actually—no. And even if he vaguely does, there's no need to rub it in his face."

"You didn't mind rubbing shoulders with all these other politicos tonight. What about the Mayor, or Senator Jones or...?"

I say, "Those people are New Yorkers. They don't give a shit, mom. But the President—he needs deniability."

Mom shrugs again. "Nothing I can do about it now. Look, it's for a very worthy cause, Carlos." She pats my arm and I barely refrain from jerking away from her like a sulky ten-year-old. She adds, "You want to look at the money? I find it always calms me down. And as I recall it definitely was the way to your father's heart."

"I don't think so," I answer. My voice is quiet and level but she knows I am pissed off, justifiably so.

She says, "In that case, move on, son."

I decide that is a rare bit of good advice and stalk away, pulling Stephanie to me and moving back onto the dance floor.

... ... ...

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_**[Steph & Ranger]**_

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**Stephanie allowed Ranger** to propel her onto the polished marble floor without a word. His hands were gentle on her waist but he was radiating an anger that Stephanie could feel. The cold silence dragged on and finally Steph ventured the obvious, "You're angry."

That got her a moment of eye contact, a glimpse of dark eyes and tight mouth. A miniscule nod finally, but no reply.

After a few more minutes of silence, she asked, "Is it my dress? I can pay for it, I have money from my skips..."

Ranger interrupted, "Everything is not always about you, Stephanie." His voice was cold, not at all what she was used to from him.

Stephanie quailed but answered, "I know that! I just don't want you to think I'd buy an expensive dress behind your back, I told you I didn't know about this party! I just wanted something special, to look pretty for you, if we had to be with..." she let go of his shoulder, waved at the gathered guests,"...sophisticated rich people."

Her mouth trembled, her voice quavered. Ranger thought, _Just what I need a scene right here, right now._ And Anthony moved in closer, looked over Jane's head and glared at him.

Ranger sighed. Out loud.

He said quietly, "Steph, I can certainly afford to buy a beautiful dress for my beautiful wife. It's my pleasure, babe, really." thinking to himself, _What's mine is yours, hell, I just spent almost 400 grand on a couple of new Porsches, your dress cost less than Al's custom work..._

"Well then what?"

Ranger rarely explained himself, but he briefly told Stephanie that meeting the President socially put them both in an unfortunate position.

"Why?"

_Because I'm a freakin' assassin._

Ranger said nothing.

Stephanie added, "And your mother didn't invite him, the White House called and asked. Olivia mentioned it to me earlier, that he and the First Lady might be coming."

"Could have said No."

"Ranger! How could she possibly..."

"If she'd given me a heads up, I could have got rid of..."

Her big blue eyes looked at him with disbelief.

"...done something..."

Stephanie gave up, sending a little finger wave to Anthony to tell him all was okay.

Ranger decided it was a good time to change the subject and he said, "So this dress is for me?"

"Yes, do you like it?"

"Hmmm..." Ranger ran a warm finger down the cleavage, another hand up the skirt's side slit, his warm hand finding the top lace of her thigh high stockings...exploring.

"Ranger!"

"Yeah, I think I do...I like it a lot." His hands were busy, and Stephanie flushed, then giggled. Ranger whispered, his hot mouth next to her ear, "You look beautiful, Steph."

She smiled at him. "So do you!"

They laughed, he kissed her.

... ... ...

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**_[Jane]_**

**_._**

**Aware of my date's hyper-alertness,** I too watched Stephanie and Carlos on the dance floor. Anthony was a great dancer, his body agile and warm against mine, but his attention was so obviously elsewhere that I was a little annoyed. Whatever had upset the beautiful Mr. Manoso quickly dissipated though and Steph gave us a little wave. Then she and Manoso kissed, right there in front of everyone.

Anthony sighed. I looked up into his dark eyes, catching the instant of sadness, of longing. I felt a moment of confusion. I liked Lester a lot—but he wasn't here. And Anthony _was_ here and supposedly available and very, very attractive. I had toyed with the notion of dating Anthony, he was obviously wealthy and intelligent, and, I know I keep sayin'—_really_ hot. But the instant of vulnerability on his face just then, the sudden vibe—Anthony Stewart was in love with his—what? cousin's? wife. He was in love with Stephanie Manoso! _Is that even possible,_ I wondered, watching the Manosos—so obviously in love and in lust—across the room.

Anthony somehow picked up on my thoughts and he looked down into my eyes, started to say something, "Jane—" but then the excitement and confusion of the First Couple on the dance floor distracted us all and we watched the President twirl his lady through the traditional waltz.

...

**Dinner was served. The President and First Lady** were seated at the sponsors' table of course, and brief speeches of welcome and mission statements were given. A subtly worded plea for funds—it was, after all, a charity event. The food was incredible. Olivia Stewart had inveigled one of the world's top chefs to prepare the meal.

Apparently between courses it was the custom to wander between tables and schmooze. And so, after he spoke to a number of important members of his Cabinet and political party, the President made his way to our table.

The man had a lot of charm, charisma, and he was very friendly and informal, obviously knew Carlos Manoso well. He also greeted Anthony by name, though with that same WTF look on his face. Manoso said neutrally, "You remember my wife, Stephanie, sir?"

"Of course, how are you? How are your daughters?"

"I'm fine, sir, and the girls are well also. Julie is thrilled that your daughter "talks" to her still on Facebook." Stephanie gave him her dazzling smile.

"Facebook, whoever knew...," said the President.

Anthony said, "Mr. President, ma'am, this is my friend Jane Smith. Jane is a research librarian, she's interested in literacy too."

The President smiled and shook my hand; the First Lady sat down and started asking me about my work and my volunteering with the pediatric patients. I tried to answer and prayed I was making sense, because I have to admit I was awestruck. They were both such warm, genuine, caring_, important_ people.

We all chatted for a few minutes, then Dr. Mann appeared and whisked the President and and his wife away, back to VIP table.

Stephanie smiled at me and said, "Oh thank god, I never know what to say to the President."

Anthony said, "You say, _Hey, dude, howzit going in DC?_"

Ranger—he finally had asked me to call him Ranger, no explanation—said, "Then you say, _Anyone else get blown up while I was waltzing, sir?_"

Stephanie gasped. "No!"

Ranger said, "Yeah, why not."

Anthony added, "Then _he_ says_, I'm sure your man Santos has the Afghanistan situation under due control._" The two men smirked.

Carefully I said, "Lester is where?"

Ranger, Anthony, and Stephanie chorused: "Tokyo/ Las Vegas/ Cancun." Then, "Ooops." An uncomfortable silence ensued.

Finally Stephanie said, "C'mon Jane, let's run to the ladies room before they serve dessert, okay?. I wouldn't want to miss dessert..."

I said, "Sure." And I followed the dark-haired woman, idly wondering how much her gown and armful of diamond bracelets cost.

**tbc**


	7. Chapter 7

_****__**Jane's Dilemma**_

_****__**.**_

_****__**.**_

_**Previously on Jane's Dilemma: **__Stephanie said, "C'mon Jane, let's run to the ladies room before they serve dessert, okay? I wouldn't want to miss dessert..." I said, "Sure." And I followed the dark-haired woman, idly wondering how much her gown and armful of diamond bracelets cost__._

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

_**.**_

_**[Ranger]**_

_**.**_

**I watch the two women head for the ladies room**, idly thinking how beautiful they both are. Jane is rummaging in her little beaded bag, pulls out a cell phone. It occurs to me that this new girl of Lester's is going to be trouble with a capital T. I glance over at Anthony but he is still busy demolishing the second entree he'd charmed out of one of the servers.

He chews, swallows, gulps champagne. Catches my eye and twitches a brow at me, _What?_

_What about this girl, is she a potential problem? _

_Nah, she's kinda sweet. And cute. _

He doesn't specifically articulate the rest of his thoughts—something along the lines of _Nice ass_, as the girls disappear into the lobby. I am gonna go with it being _Jane's_ ass he admires, not Steph's, so I don't have to kill him.

I catch, _What ?_ again and shrug. Out loud I say, "Like the food?"

"Gotta keep my strength up, Rangeman. And yeah, pretty tasty, what the fuck is this anyway? Like steak and lobster and—pie crust? With—uh, something yellow?"

I read off the menu card: _"Chateaubriand with tarragon béarnaise sauce and lobster tails Newburg__ : Chef Jason's specialty ~ A gastronomical deconstruct in culinary modernism."_

We both stare, our version of open-mouthed amazed gaping, then we laugh.

Anthony finishes his rare beef tenderloin, shakes his head. "Deconstructed, fer chrissakes. That's just so not right."

"Tasted okay, though."

"Mmmm. Yeah. Wonder if there's any more?"

... ... ...

.

_**[Jane]**_

_**.**_

**As we left the noisy ballroom—music, chatter, laughter**, rattle of plates and cutlery—and stepped into the relative peace of the lobby, I had my cell phone out, my thumb on Lester's number, already number one on my autodial.

No answer, just, _Santos. Leave a message._

Stephanie looked back at me , waited til I caught up.

I said, "I really wanted to call Lester. I—hung up on him earlier. I guess I was pretty rude."

Stephanie said nothing.

"I wanted to—I don't know—just say Hi."

"Jane..." Stephanie shook her head a little, walked on.

I caught up to her in the white marble bathroom, as we washed our hands at the sinks. The sinks had golden fixtures shaped like swans. We were alone except for the attendant in her traditional black maid's outfit, frilly white apron, tip bowl.

Stephanie said, "I'm glad you came tonight even though Les had to go, um...had to work."

I said, "I am too! I was so excited!" I glanced at Stephanie wondering if the other woman thought I was a total dork. I mean, bad enough that her husband's cousin is dating a _librarian. _Now the librarian was being little Miss Awestruck idiot.

Stephanie smiled in the mirror and said, "I hope you're having fun? At least you have a great stand-in guy."

"Yes. Anthony seems really nice."

"And hot."

"Well—yeah." We both laughed a little.

Steph turned and leaned back against the vanity, said, "So—you and Les, though, huh? You like him?"

"Well..." I did not have to tell this woman everything! But maybe I could find out some answers of my own. I dug my little hairbrush out and went on casually, "Funny—I feel like I really don't know him—Lester, I mean. Or exactly what he does for a living, even though we've been dating for a few weeks. I mean, he had to work tonight? Tonight? It's a Saturday night right before Christmas, for pete's sake...what could he have to do that is so important?"

_You can't begin to imagine what he does or where he has gone or what he has to do,_ thought Stephanie. My empathic sense caught the gist and I frowned.

Stephanie stared at me in the mirror, then focused on re-applying her rose red lip gloss. She capped the little black Chanel tube, put it in her little purse and finally said, "Maybe you don't want to know."

"No! I do. I, um, care about Les. He's special. Although Anthony is also, um—interesting?"

"Yeah. Exactly." She made a tiny shrugging motion, dismissing my concerns.

"I mean, what...?" I wanted to ask her what HER husband did really—he was quite young but obviously The Boss—of _something._ Steph shrugged again "Don't ask. Please." Then, "C'mon! We need more drinks, girl!" She snapped her little evening bag shut and headed for the door.

I said to her back, "Anthony is in love with you."

She stopped but didn't turn. "And?"

I said, "None of my business! Except—he's my date!"

Stephanie turned and stared at me with wide blue eyes. She had the airhead bimbo face down really well, totally without thought or opinion. I had the vague wisp of thought that she should be blonde...

And that somehow, some way, she loved Anthony too.

I asked, "What's that like, loving two men?"

"I have no idea," Steph lied. Then she grinned. "Confusing! It's confusing. But hey, I'm married to—" she hauled the door open and waved a hand. I looked at the man leaning against the wall waiting for her. "...him. My brains headed south the day we met, haven't been coherent since, Jane. So don't ask me for advice."

Ranger Manoso straightened up. "Babe?"

"Ranger."

"You were gone a long..."

"Oh please...," laughed Stephanie.

And alarms suddenly blared, we heard screams. The scent of smoke rapidly filled my nostrils and a queasy panic crawled up my spine. I so wished I'd had another martini or three. I looked at Ranger for a directive? answers? But he was looking calm and blank, though alert. And he had a gun in his hand.

Ranger looked down at Stephanie and said, "I never pictured you burning down The Plaza, babe."

_Bomb!_ someone screamed.

Stephanie said, "It wasn't my fault."

"Uh huh...Where's your gun?"

"In your pocket. My purse is too little."

Ranger patted the breast pocket of his tuxedo. "Babe, it's an Armani _Coutura_ suit. Hand tailored."

"So what, my dress is Versace."

"I know. I saw the AmEx bill."

"Bite me."

"Later." He grabbed my hand and steered both me and Stephanie towards the action. Stephanie trotted firmly at his side, gun ready, high heels clicking. _NOT an airhead, trophy wife bimbo after all,_ I thought.

Anthony materialized at my side. "Jane! Are you okay?"

"I think so, but..."

His attention went to Ranger, not dismissing me, but—busy. "Lotta smoke, unknown source. No bomb, no explosion. The Secret Service is evacuating the President and the missus. Rangeman is coordinating guest safety, along with Plaza security. Some HLS dude is here, calling in his troops."

"Why?"

"Guess he doesn't realize you're on the job, bro."

"Let's find him." We made our way the smoky chaos of the ballroom. I could swear Ranger mumbled, _My mother is gonna kill me._ Anthony leaned past me and said, "Your mom is gonna kill you, man."

_"I know."_

Stephanie giggled and the edge of hysteria in her laugh made both men turn to look at her.

Near the bandstand, Ranger said to the three of us, "Stay here, evacuate if you have to."

Anthony nodded and did the annoying arm clasp thing again. I wondered crazily if he moonlighted as a bouncer once, attracting a swift, strange glance from both him and Ranger. Then Ranger disappeared into the throng.

... ... ...

.

_**[Ranger]**_

_**.**_

**I quickly make my way to the VIP table** where the President and First Lady have been surrounded by their Secret Service detail and are being hustled off to a safe room in the bowels of the old hotel. I see that my mother is accompanying them while Anthony's mom, Olivia Stewart, is efficiently calming the guests in the ballroom.

I move down the hidden corridor, following the president, but at the door of the safe room, a middle-aged bureaucrat type halts me rudely with a hand smacked into my chest. He barks, "Stop right there!"

I say, "Who the fuck are you?"

The man turns an unattractive shade of red and says, "I'll have you know..."

My mom intervenes, "This is Hawkins Bateman Shoemaker, he is the assistant deputy director of Homeland Security. Hawk, this is my son..."

I interrupt too, "He doesn't need to know, mom," and push by. The man catches my arm, lucky for him not my gun hand, and screams in my face, some shit about jurisdiction. I speed dial my iPhone and shove it into his hand. The President's tuxedo jacket rings and he answers, then looks over everyone's heads and finds me. I grab my phone back and walk over to him, leaving the confused Homeland Security man behind. To the president I say politely, "Are you okay, sir?"

"Yes. But what happened?"

"I not sure yet, sir, but this room is 100% bomb and fire proof, it was redone after 9/11. It was built back in the days of Teddy Roosevelt originally, I believe. You and the First Lady are safe here. And if need be, we can evacuate you in your armored limo or via the private, secure subway tunnel " The president nods and squeezes his wife's hand.

One of the Secret Service guys shoulders into the circle and says, ''Manoso, the head of Plaza security wants to talk to you. Names Harper?''

Oh yeah. The guy I met when I reconned this place a few weeks ago.

Jerrold Harper, the Plaza man, ex-Army, mid-50s, going to seed but still sharp, whispers frantically in my ear.

"Are you sure?"

Then some more...His face is pale, stress and deep concern shadow his features, despite his professionalism.

I nod and say, "Okay, people, sir, ma'am. Listen up! We have good news and bad news. The good news is—there is definitely no bomb, no explosion, no fire and no danger, just an overheated _pommes frites_ deep fryer in the room service kitchen. It made some smoke but all is well. The ballroom has big fans and the air is clear, the band is playing..."

My mother looked relieved.

"The Plaza extends its deepest apologies," added Harper.

The president said, "And the bad news?"

**tbc**

a/n: Thank you for reading our story! Please review, it means So Much! What a thrill and all that! And thanks to everyone who has reviewd so far!

love, sunny and Tuck

* * *

a/n 2:

for those of you with questions I am repeating this note from Ch 18:

Jane's Dilemma while frothy, festive, and fun, also examines the themes of sexual attraction and even love of/ for more than one person. It builds on the original premise of the JE triangle and Stephanie loving both Joe and Ranger. She has moved forward, and Joe is not an issue...but just as Jane is attracted to Lester _and_ Anthony, and both Ranger and Anthony love Steph, Anthony can also find Jane appealing-and possible. And Jane has her own dilemma: _Love the one you're with? Or...?_

In my world, Ranger and Stephanie are truly partners: work, love, life, family -and totally committed. Soul mates, even. And Anthony loves both Ranger and Steph...


	8. Chapter 8

_**Tuck and I want to thank everyone for reading! And for bookmarking our story. **_

_**Special thanks to everyone who takes the time to review. Thank you!**_

_**love**_

_**sunny & Tuck**_

* * *

_**Jane's Dilemma**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

* * *

_**Previously:**"... I'm sure your man Santos has the Afghanistan situation under due control._" .

Carefully Jane said, "Lester is where?"

Ranger, Anthony, and Stephanie chorused: "Tokyo/ Las Vegas/ Cancun." Then, "Ooops." An uncomfortable silence ensued.

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

.

**_[Lester]_**

**_._**

**Job completed.**

**It wouldn't bring back the lives **of thirty-seven dedicated operatives...and it would never make the front page of the New York Times. But the demented mastermind—aka asshole—who set up the CIA bombing was dead. I stifled a sigh and rolled onto my borrowed cot, fully dressed in neutral unmarked cammo fatigues. _I'll never be a hero,_I grumbled to myself. I pictured a local Trenton sports bar full of hot ladies in tight NFL women's jerseys and groaned. Not that my mojo needed the hero thing. If I wanted to get laid, well—I'm the man, right? I relaxed a little. My post-mission adrenaline rush ebbed and I fell into an exhausted sleep.

For twenty fucking minutes! I jerked awake—my sat phone was vibrating in an interesting spot. Huh. Tank. l squinted at the tiny readout, wondering what time it could be in NYC. But since I didn't even know the time here in A-Stan, I was clueless.

"Yo."

"Yo, man. Howzit goin'?"

"It's going fine, Tank. Is there some reason you called and woke me up or you just called to chat?"

"Heard the job went well, dawg. You work fast."

"Yeah...but these guys are like cockroaches. We stamp on one, a dozen take their place. Fucking waste of time."

"Gotta try. And it's necessary. The story may never be told, their names will remain top-secret...but their families will have closure. They'll know we took out the murdering son of a bitch who killed their son or daughter, husband. And they'll know he'll never kill another American soldier or agent."

I rubbed my forehead, my nerves jangling again. "How's that gonna help, Tank? And anyway, it was deep black."

"Ranger get word to their folks, you know dat, boy."

Tank's speech wandered between his native, well-spoken, college educated English and his assumed Trenton street talk. It was like talking to two men in one body. But of course Ranger did the same thing, so did I. I let it go, tried waiting him out. Finally I said, "You have a lot of free minutes or some such? This is a majorly long-distance call."

"Uncle Sam pay da bills, boy."

"And?"

"Ranger wants you back here ASAP. We have situation."

"Fuck that. I just fell asleep. For the first time in 48 hours. I didn't even shower yet."

"Get cleaned up, get some food in you, and come home. Plane is waiting in Kabul, heli will be at the outpost in 30."

"Fuck!"

"Move yo' ass. You can sleep on the plane,boy."

"What the sitch?"

"Ranger'll brief you in transit. Get busy."

"But..."

Tank clicked off.

_I haven't even cleaned my rifle! I need a shower! I'm starved...and what about Jane?_

Man, I was pissed...and still jazzed from earlier tonight. I stormed off to the high tech trailer that had hot showers and toilets and so on. Typical Army dichotomy: we're sleeping in smelly tents, on too-short field cots—and we're showering in luxury like movie stars. _And what about Jane? Huh?_

I lathered up with the Army's cheap soap and thought about Jane. My dick enjoyed that and stirred a little. _Down, boy. _I remembered the day we met, in the elevator at Saint Vincent's. I was there checking on a federal witness who had been shot while under US marshal guard. Rangeman was taking over the security; I was there, undercover but armed, to see if everything was properly executed (so to speak). And the pretty blue-eyed girl in the elevator along with the obnoxious teenagers had sent out such strong vibes: _Just kill me now!—_sarcasm worthy of Stephanie—that I straightened up and took notice. I showed her my gun and her eyes got big—but then they laughed.

I wondered now..._Jane? Can you hear me? I'm okay, I'm fine. How are you? Uh, are you mad at me?_

The hot water streamed down. Huh. Nothing.

Oh well. A-stan is far from NYC. And I am not a strong empath, not like...

I stomped out of the shower, wrapped a skimpy towel around my waist. I took another towel and rubbed my head, finally grateful that I'd cut my long hair. Can you see a time-out, in the middle of 'Stan...to blow dry my hair? Ranger had cut his hair too. Function over form.

"Sir?"

A woman's voice, coming from a girl in ugly army fatigues. She was petite and possibly pretty (the army does its best to hide _that_, ruins a man's fun...) but she was gaping at my almost naked body like she hadn't had a man in years. If ever. She studied my abs, licked her lips, then slowly tracked down to the skimpy towel. Looked interested in what might be underneath, still somewhat on display from my thoughts about Jane, I guess. _Yeah, baby... _But I barked out, "What!" because despite my much cherished rep as a player, right then I did not have the time. Or interest.

Her eyes snapped back to my face and she blushed. She held out a cell phone. "Your phone was vibrating. I, uh, answered it."

"Jesus!" I took my phone and said, "Can you find me something decent to eat?"

"Uh..." She looked confused.

"Dismissed, soldier."

I thumbed on the phone off Hold. Ooops. Ranger himself this time.

I said, "I was in the shower."

"Uh huh."

" 'S up, boss?"

"Give me a fast run down of the job."

"Can I put my pants on first, man?"

(sigh.) "If you must."

The young soldier had kindly set out clean cammo pants and an olive drab t-shirt, socks, boxers. I pulled the pants on, sat on a bench and told Ranger about tracking the celebrating imam and his minions. I finished up, "Piece of cake."

"Speaking of which, they're serving dessert soon, I have to get back to Stephanie."

"Wait! What time is it there? You're at the party? How's Jane? Was she pissed? Is she okay? Having fun?"

Silence.

"Ranger?"

"She's fine, Lester. Pretty girl, man. Smart."

"I hear a _but _in your voice, Ranger. Talk!"

"Ah...she looks like she's thinking Antonio would make a tasty dessert, but yeah...pretty girl. Hot."

"I'll kill him! She's mine, I found her."

"Mmmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Ranger."

Another sigh. Anyone who thinks Ranger doesn't sigh and get bummed out with all of us, doesn't know the guy like I do. We grew up together. Ranger—the man's current _nom de guerre_, lol—is a year older than me. He was lying in wait when I came home from the maternity ward, age 3 days. And we've been buds ever since. My cousin hides it well but here it was, two sighs in two minutes.

Ranger said, "Just get back here ASAP, we're deploying within 24 hours. You can't kill Anthony, but you can reclaim Jane—if that's what she wants—later."

"Yeah? When? And where am I going next, why the rush?"

"Bad news, man..."

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

_****__**Jane's Dilemma**_

_****__**.**_

_****__**.**_

_****__**

* * *

**_

**a/n Thank you, everyone who read and reviewed or bookmarked our story! Tuck and I appreciate the feedback.****love**

**sunny d**

**.**

**.**

* * *

_**Previously on Jane's Dilemma: **__I nod and say, "We have good news and bad news:...all is well. The ballroom has big fans and the air is clear, the band is playing...dessert will be served shortly."_

_The president said, "And the bad news?"_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Nine**

**.**

**.**

_**[Anthony]**_

**.**

**Ranger strode off into the smoke to save the world—**probably truly happy for the first time tonight— and left me to protect the two girls. I was totally okay with that, much finer to spend the evening with two beautiful women than to sit in an airless safe room, briefing the President. The ballroom had rapidly cleared of smoke, the waiters popped the corks on more vintage champagne, trays of dessert appeared, the band resumed its music. And the glittering masses went back to their party. The evening's atmosphere had changed, though—the _same-old_ boredom was replaced by an undercurrent of frantic excitement, a _fin de siècle_ aura, something like celebrating bravely as the _Titanic _went down.

I caught my mother's eye across the ballroom; she looked beautiful and serene—and just a smidge relieved, spreading her charm around like butter. She gave me a tiny nod of thanks I assume for carrying on with the show and supporting her efforts at normalcy.

Jane and I finished another dance and headed back to our table. When we arrived the black-and-white chocolate Grand Marnier mousse had been served and our wine glasses topped up. Servers instantly appeared with coffee_:—"espresso, latte or cappuccino, madam? Sir?"_

Tank and Lula had arrived while Jane and I were dancing. Tank seemed distracted, perhaps listening to his inner Ranger. And Lula, like Stephanie, was happily slurping down her chocolate mousse.

Lula looked up long enough to say, "Hey, handsome." I reintroduced Jane to her and Tank a bit absently. Like Tank I was trying to get a fix on Ranger's head to find out what was happening.

Stephanie shoved her empty dessert flute and her gun towards the centerpiece of frosted white roses and glittery silver branches and pulled Ranger's dessert in front of her. She caught me looking and said, "What? It's not like he's ever gonna want to eat it. And besides, you know what they say..." She touched her pink tongue to her pouty upper lip and heat washed over my body.

Lost in her wide blue eyes, I whispered, "What, Steph?" My tone drew both Lula and Jane's attention, I must have sounded too..._something_...

But Steph just laughed lightly and said, "When the going gets tough—the tough want comfort food."

Lula nodded. "You got that right, white girl. Nothin' say comfort food like chocolate pudding."

Tank said, "It's mou...enjoy it, baby doll. Enjoy."

Lula fluttered her eyelashes at him. She was looking quite classy tonight in a sea-green couture gown and subtle makeup but her natural bawdiness showed through the facade. She said, "It would taste a lot better if it was spread all oooovvver your..."

"Later." Tank interrupted firmly. cracking us all up. Stephanie's smile lit up the room.

Jane was still watching me, watching me watch Steph. I refocused on my date, opened my mouth to ask her...and a beefy young man in Rangeman black appeared, whispered in Tank's ear. Almost simultaneously Lester's parents showed up at our table too, no doubt reinforcements to babysit the girls. Tank and I rose politely, inviting them to join us. We made polite chitchat, they sat down and Tank and I excused ourselves, Jane looking a bit goldfish-faced at being left with Lester's parents.

In the foyer I stopped to ask Tank for a sitrep [situation report] and Steph, who had followed close on our heels, plowed into me. I grabbed her and held her, just for a moment? _Forever?_

"Antonio, yo, dude. _Dude!_"

Tank's big voice boomed in my ear and inside my head. I set Steph away from me and she said, "I'm coming with. I have my gun." She waved it at us and we both cringed and ducked.

"Geez. Pussies, " she said.

Tank and I exchanged looks then shrugged, filing her under _Ranger's problem_. I love Stephanie Plum, but maybe not so much when she is armed and dangerous—to herself and others. At that moment our cozy threesome was subtly crashed by a familiar but unwanted young man with very long hair in a pony tail, pale cruel green eyes, and a good tuxedo.

He said, "Ranger invited me."

I just looked at him. He looked pretty good, actually—for a washed-up hitman of dubious provenance. He added, "Introduce me?" and nodded at Stephanie. I refused to introduce my brother's wife to famed Bulgarian assassin Dragan Whateverthehell last name he's using now, so I just stared in silence. Stephanie transferred her gun to her left hand, stuck out her right and said, "I'm Stephanie Plum. And you are...?"

"Charmed," said Drag in his phony Count Dracula accent. "You look familiar...

(picture the accent, dudes, geez : _fah Mill eee are. _Shit...).

... Perhaps I met your daughter today?" He bent over as if to kiss Steph's hand but at the mention of Zoe she jerked away and aimed her gun at Dragan.

He threw up his hands and stepped back. I laughed.

Tank rumbled,"Enough. Ms Plum is Ranger's woman, Dragan. That's all you need to know. Now let's go, boss is waiting."

The four of us headed down to the safe room, Tank giving a quick update as we went.

I could hear Steph mumbling at Tank, _Not his freaking woman, geez! We got married, ya big chauvinst jerk..._

... ... ...

.

**_[Ranger]_**

**_._**

**In the safe room, I outline the good news —**the hotel is NOT on fire - or under bombardment. No terrorists, either, not this time.

The President looks relieved but asks for the bad news, of course. He and the First Lady are holding hands and waiting, eyes locked onto me. Standing at the back of the room I can see my mother listening to someone on her cell phone. She has a tiny pleat of worry between her eyebrows, an expression that for her is the equivalent of an immense scowl on a normal person. I look around the room: it's like a bunker with no windows and huge flat screen TV panels with video links. It was designed and built not just for the President but for any government official—governor, mayor, etc.— to use in a crisis or terrorist attack.

No Presidential lackeys though, not tonight. This was one of those Presidential date nights, he and his wife like to get away and have some fun. His Secret Service people are here, the Plaza security guy and the dickbrained assistant HLS man.

Watching my mom, I know I better talk fast. "Sir, there has been a catastrophic earthquake in Haiti."

Everyone gasps. "The country is devastated, the government is in shambles. As many as 200,000 people may be dead."

Vince gives me a nod; I pick up the remote and tune into the White House. The Chief of Staff and the President's other advisors immediately begin giving a more detailed description of the situation in Haiti.

Leaving Vince to supervise the two-way link between NYC and DC, I step to the back of the room, coming to stop beside my mother. Her eyes track to me for a second then refocus inward, to the person on the line. A minute later she signs off and turns to me, looks into my eyes, but she is really already on the plane to Haiti, I can tell.

I say, "I can have someone bring you to the airport immediately. Our corporate planes will be at your disposal, just tell me what you need."

She says, "I have to go home, get organized, change my clothes." She gestures helplessly at her delicate Armani gown. "There is no point in showing up and being a burden. Adequate organization, planning-necessities of life-will be crucial. _Medecins Sans Frontiers_ is geared for just such an event. We have a protocol. "

"Of course you do."

She looks at me sharply, the frown getting more noticeable. "I will be on that plane within two hours."

I nod.

"I know—I know I promised to be here for this event, I promised you...But I have to go, Ranger."

"I know. I'll be going too, as soon as I get the President squared away and, like you, organize properly."

"Keep in touch, Ranger." _I love you._

"Stay safe." _I love you too, mom._

_With my mother, it's not really ESP—but it's somehting..._

We hesitate, then I force myself to channel my inner Steph—I reach out and hug her to me. She clings, just for a second. She says, "It is going to be awful, a hell beyond our imagining...so, so—awful."

I say, "You can do this. It's what you do, mom."

"And you too."

"Yeah..."

She hugs me again quickly and drops a shy kiss on my cheek, turns on her heel and heads bravely off —not to save the world, just to save...whoever she can.

**tbc **


	10. Chapter 10

_******Jane's Dilemma** _

_**.**_

_**.**_

* * *

_**Previously on Jane's Dilemma: **__Steph said, "I'm coming with. I have my gun."_ _Tank and I exchanged looks then shrugged, filing her under Ranger's problem. I love Stephanie Plum, but maybe not so much when she is armed and dangerous—to herself and others. We headed down to the safe room, Tank giving a quick update as we went._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 10**

**.**

_[Stephanie]_

_._

**_There they stood in their hand-tailored megabucks black tuxes_**, probably three of the hottest men on the planet—plus Zoe's new guy— faces taut, eyes focused inward, totally intent on saving—whatever. Totally ignoring me, girl hero, Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter and all-round badass. Well, okay, not. But still... I tuned back into the conversation. It seems the hotel—and NYC—are safe, but there has been a _something_, in...well, _some_where. I didn't totally catch it, the conversation mostly consisting of shorthand, grunts, some Spanish and a bunch of ESP.

Ranger said to Anthony, "Finish up here, take the girl home...get some rest. We'll meet at the airport tomorrow, 0900."

Anthony said, "It's been snowing all evening, man. May become a major blizzard by morning."

"That can't be an issue." Ranger's tone left no room for argument. The weather _would _cooperate. Or else.

"No problem, bro."

"Tank, Rangeman briefing 0500. And we need to get Lester back here ASAP. He speaks French, not that many of the men do. Go through the roster and pull out any operators or contract agents we have who speak any French or Creole."

"Yes, boss. Prelim travel plans?"

Ranger glanced at Anthony, then said, "Probably private jet to the DR [Dominican Republic], land in Santo Domingo, the capital."

Anthony said, "I have a couple of helis in George Town, on Grand Cayman. I can have them brought over."

I just had to ask, "A couple?" _Who has a couple free helicopters, anyway?_

Anthony shrugged. "Yeah...," To Ranger he added, "Well, like three actually. Two from that gig in Panama last year, remember? Plus my own, I always keep a heli in the Caymans."

"Okay, that works. Your people can bring them to Santo Domingo, we fly the helis to either an offshore aircraft carrier or right into Port au Prince. According to the general, we're looking to serve as both liaison team and muscle. There is no infrastructure standing, no police, no government. We may end up running protection gigs for the incoming medical teams, guarding supplies. Whatever is needed."

"Okay."

"I'll call you. Take Jane home, get some sleep. Tank, you and Lula better head back to Trenton, too."

"Yes boss."

Ranger turned to the new guy. "Dragan, you speak any French?" he asked the strange young man with the Count Dracula accent.

_"Oui, mon colonel. Un peu vraiment." _[Yes. Just a little, really.]

"You come with me."

_"D'accord."_ [Of course, okay]

And Ranger walked off, dialing his sat phone. I no longer existed in his world. Just before he turned into the bunker-room, I yelled, "Ranger?"

He paused and looked up. "Babe. I'll meet you back at the Four Seasons later..."

Ranger likes the Four Seasons.

"But—I have Pinky waiting!"

Tank and Anthony had _eeew_ faces. Tank mumbled, "TMI, Bomber."

"Save it, babe." He and the new guy disappeared into the briefing room.

Anthony gasped out, "Pinky?" over a startled laugh.

I turned and poked him in the ribs. "It's vodka, silly boy! We were gonna do body shots and..." I realized what I was saying and shut up fast.

"I have a body, I could, like, fill in for Ranger, sweetheart."

"I don't think so," Tank's deep voice chorused with my high-pitched squeak.

"Oh well. So, Steph? Need a lift?"

"No!"

"We can drop you at your hotel?"

"No! Thank you, but, no. We have a car here." I quickly hugged both men. "Stay safe, boys. Watch Ranger's back."

... ... ... ...

_[Anthony]_

_._

**Tank and I watched Steph walk bravely back to the party**, her FMPs clicking on the marble floor, her gun still clutched in her hand.

Tank sighed and shook his head glumly. "Lula isn't gonna be happy, missing her night at the Four Seasons."

I patted his shoulder. "And all that chocolate pudding she stashed in her doggy bag—all gone to waste."

"Oh man..." groaned Tank.

"At least she didn't plan a Pinky party."

"That is so not right, Antonio. The boss..." We laughed til our sides ached, a tension thing, I guess.

Tank said, "Let's get this show on the road, man."

"Sure."

... ... ...

**Back in the ballroom, the evening was winding down.** I collected Jane from the arms of some very willing to be of help Rangeman kid, kissed my mom goodnight and headed to the lobby.

Jane studied my face closely and asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yep. Perfect. All is well in Plaza-ville. Though the chef who burned the french fries may not have a job tomorrow."

Jane frowned a little. "That's not what I meant..."

""Um..." I _knew _that, I was _avoiding. Geez._

"Excuse me, Mr. Stewart?" interrupted the cloakroom attendant.

_Give the lady a big tip,_ I thought gratefully.

"Yes?"

The coat check woman handed me an extra large pink and black Bergdorf-Goodman shopping bag. "One of your people left this for you, sir."

What? I'm young, I'm rich, I'm single—I have _people_. So sue me. At least it's not an entourage.

I took the bag and pulled out a fur-lined velvet coat with a hood and a pair of black suede UGGs. "For you, Jane. It's been snowing all evening, your little pashmina thing and sandals just won't do the job."

But.."

I bundled her into the coat and after a few sputters she leaned on me while she changed into the toasty boots. Without her high-heeled evening sandals, Jane was tiny. Fragile. I wrapped the cashmere shawl around her throat and dropped a kiss on her cute little nose. "You look adorable, " I grinned and pulled up the hood.

Jane stared at me then ran her hand over the fur lining, raised a dainty eyebrow. I said, "It's fake." I hoped I wasn't lying, it looked suspiciously like real sable. I pulled on my own topcoat and dialed the limo and my bodyguards on my cell. Five minutes later we were cruising down snowy Fifth Avenue, warm and cozy in the big car.

Jane said, "I had a good time. It was...fun." She snuggled against my shoulder and we held hands. The ensuing silence was comfortable. In an intimate kind of way.

... ... ...

_[Jane]_

_._

**The party's over...I look like Lara in **_**Dr. Zhivago**_, all ankle-length velvet and incredible, soft fur. The hero has wrapped me up in romantic finery of his own choosing and has swept me off my feet. Well, not really. But Anthony Stewart was charming and kind and very, very appealing on a quirky kind of way. The big Mercedes plowed easily through the snowy Manhattan streets. I looked up in wonder—the skyscrapers' tops wreathed in colored lights and swirling snow, the rare emptiness, the silence. When we hit the Village I was totally entranced, leaning past Anthony to peer out the tinted windows. I said, "Look at this, it looks so magical!"

"Mmmm." Did his lips brush across my hair?

"It's amazing! It could be a hundred years ago—no cars, no tourists..."

"No transvestites, no 'hos.."

I giggled. "C'mon! Isn't it beautiful?"

"_You_ are beautiful, Jane."

His lips brushed my cheek, but I was too intrigued by the scene around us to react. "Look! There's the park, Washington Square! See the arch? Let's get out and walk the rest of the way home. It's like a fairy tale—the snow, the holiday twinkle lights..."

"Walk?"

"Please? I do have boots," I smiled at him.

"Okay..." He lifted the intercom handset, told the driver to pull over and let us out. I heard some garbled static, then Anthony snapped, "_Don't_ argue with me."

The car stopped and we got out, followed by a less than happy MIB, one of the bodyguards. He glowered at Anthony who shrugged and linked our arms. The man followed discreetly, his eyes constantly sweeping the snowy streets.

Greenwich Village in the snow at Christmas! It was an amazing sight, one I will never forget. The mounds of snow hid the cars, hid the dumpsters; it piled up on wrought iron fence railings like marshmallow frosting. The bay windows of the old brownstones glowed warmly golden, many with huge Christmas trees all shiny and bright and hopeful.

Anthony gently squeezed my hand and we stopped to take it all in, leaning back against the fencing, looking back across two hundred years of city life. Finally I shivered and Anthony turned to me, his big warm body cutting off the wind. His gloved hands held onto the fence rails on either side of my shoulders and when I looked up into his snow-flecked face, he leaned down and kissed me. Not a polite little kiss on the cheek either. His mouth was icy cold on mine and then suddenly I wasn't cold at all. I was hot, we both were hot. It wasn't December, it was suddenly July...

He deepened the kiss and I wrapped my arms around his neck as my knees threatened to buckle under me. He wrapped his arms around me in return, and despite all the heavy layers of winter clothes I could feel every contour of his hard body pressed tightly against mine.

The kiss ended. Silence. He took my hand and we started walking again. "Jane...I have to go away for awhile."

"Like Lester?" _What_ is _with _these guys?

"Sort of... Actually, Les will be there too."

"Be there? Be—where?"

He didn't answer, just said, "Can I call you when I get back?"

"Um. Ah...But, Lester?" I was not at my best or most eloquent.

"Oh yeah. Lester." He looked around, waved a hand and the black Mercedes rolled up next to us, nearly silent in the snowy night. We let ourselves in, Anthony saying, "I think we walked...and talked...enough." He rolled down the privacy glass and leaned forward, ""Go around the block and pick up Taylor, man. Poor dude is freezing his ass off out there."

"Yes, Mr. Stewart."

The other bodyguard got in and they drove us the final couple blocks. Anthony walked me upstairs to my door, carefully unlocking my apartment's half dozen locks, turning on the lights.

"Wanna look under the bed?" I asked a bit sarcastically.

"Okay." He opened all the closet doors, checked the bathroom. And yes, looked under the bed.

Finally he said, "Clear," and gave me his beautiful smile.

"Thanks again, Anthony. I..."

He touched my lips to silence me, his finger feather light and sweet. "It's okay, I understand. Good bye, Jane." And he was gone. I looked at my closed door and whispered, "Stay safe. Be careful. I'll—pray—for you. All."

... ... ...

**I walked to the window and watched** the black car turn the corner and head west.

Cinderella was home from the ball. And Prince Charming—in fact, ALL the Prince Charmings—were headed off to...what? To war?

My phone rang.

... ... ...

**epilog to follow**


	11. Chapter 11 Epilog: Anthony's Report

_****__**Jane's Dilemma**_

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_**Previously on Jane's Dilemma**__: All the Prince Charmings were headed off to—what? To war? My phone rang._

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_**Epilog **_

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**from an actual news release: _"_**_**TYNDALL AIR FORCE BASE, Fla. (AFNS)** - Liaison officers with the **Joint Personnel Recovery Center** and the 601st Air and Space Operations Center here deployed to assist with humanitarian aid efforts following a 7.0 magnitude earthquake that devastated Haiti..._

_**SOUTHCOM [US military] officials are closely monitoring the situation and are working with officials from the U.S. State Department, U.S. Agency for International Development and the Office of U.S. Foreign Disaster Assistance** and other national and international agencies to determine how to best respond to this crisis._

_"We're ready to help SOUTHCOM and the Coast Guard with our search and rescue expertise," said Lt. Col. Charles Tomko, the JPRC director. "One of our main missions is responding to catastrophic search and rescue operations, and our liaison officers are highly trained and well qualified to assist with the humanitarian outreach that the Haitian people so desperately need right now." The JPRC, plans, coordinates, and monitors personnel recovery and catastrophic search and rescue missions._

_._

_**Anthony's report [informal]**_

_**.**_

**We sent two of my helicopters directly** to an aircraft carrier posted off Port au Prince. I made private arrangements through my international banking connections for a tanker of jet fuel to be delivered to rescue area beyond the devastated harbor of the stricken country—no sense bringing in choppers if you can't get fuel. And as per Ranger's orders through our General, I flew my personal heli directly from Santo Domingo to the Presidential Palace of the Haitian government, located on the outskirts of the fallen city.

I did a recon fly-over first. The contrast was awful—the beautiful, peaceful Caribbean waters surrounding acres and acres of smoking rubble. The headquarters of the Haitian government, the presidential residence was a shambles—picture the White House looking like that and you'll have the idea how the Haitian government must feel. Even their president was homeless.

I got clearance to land and set down on the once-manicured lawn. The US military presence was strong at the palace, lots of worker bees scurrying around with clipboards. According to Ranger's briefing, we would be providing security and transportation under the aegis of U.S. State Department, U.S. Agency for International Development and the Office of U.S. Foreign Disaster Assistance, and the military's Joint Personnel Recovery Center. _Lots of chiefs, not enough Indians?_ I wondered vaguely and hoped someone would be actively running this show.

I figured our military presence, while perhaps frightening to the people in the rubble, would be a positive thing. Military personnel are trained to follow orders, trained to get the job done and, supposedly, inured to death and human suffering. _As if!_ And in the days that followed I learned first-hand that no one was immune to the grief and fear that was now the norm in Haiti.

... ... ...

.

**My heli is relatively small so I was only carrying** Ranger, Lester, and Tank plus myself, food and medical supplies, weapons and ammo. Basically we were going in as cops.

A guy in jungle camouflage fatigues yelled to us, "Check in over there. That woman with the clipboard! She's in charge." He pointed to a woman with her back turned to us. She was petite with some very nice curves encased in military-style khakis and an olive drab t-shirt; a long silky fall of dark ponytail poked through the back opening of her camo ball cap.

As if she felt our attention she turned around, stopped dead, clipboard clutched to her chest. She locked eyes with me...then tracked to Lester, hovered over Ranger—like all women do—and then studied me and Les again. Her blue eyes widened and her mouth parted a little.

I stopped dead and Les plowed into me. The Buffoon twins.

Ranger grabbed us both and when we were steady on our stupid feet again, he said calmly, "You guys didn't really think she was just a librarian, did you?"

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**the end...****however...following this story is a two part "Ranger's Epilog" bonus. So stay tuned, right here, and many, many thanks for reading our story. Reviews are awesome, thanks!**

**love, sunny & Tuck**


	12. Chapter 12 Ranger's Epilog Part One

**Jane's Dilemma**

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**Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas - Part One **

**(Ranger's Epilog)**

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_ten days after the earthquake in Haiti _

_. —_

**"No, Daddy, it has to be the exact thing,** you can't mess around with a little kid's Christmas list."

I was already back from Haiti, recalled by my government clients. Rangeman has the capability—and willingness—to assist in humanitarian efforts worldwide, but let's face facts: it's not my real job. I left Lester in charge in Port au Prince and came back not just for my next black job, but for my next assignment in so-called real life: show up and survive a family Christmas.

I glanced at Julie whose teenage girl voice sounded just like mine when I was briefing my men for an op...and her face looked just like I probably do too: Determined to succeed at all costs.

But I said only, ''Yeah, I know.''

''Okay then." Head jerk, defining nod. "Let's try the big Toys R Us on Times Square." She set off through the front doors of FAO Schwartz, past the big mechanical toys clock and hiked out towards Fifth Avenue. I followed in her wake, watched her stand tiptoe on the curb to hail a cab, a determined little figure in baby-Goth black, her black nailed hand in long fingerless Bella gloves waving madly in the frigid air.

A taxi swerved across the four lanes of Fifth Avenue and pulled up with a prideful flourish of bad brakes and non-complying emission exhaust. Julie may be dressed like a little punk 'ho but she is still beautiful. _Her smile could light up Times Square,_ I thought. Then she said those exact words to the cabby and I grinned to myself. _Guess I'll find out._

But no, she gave me a frown instead.

"Daddy! _Ranger_...this is my first Christmas with Zoë since she's a baby. And all she wants is a pink and black striped Poopalot."

''Yes. You told me. She told me. Steph told me. We couldn't find one in Jersey. So here we are, chica." And the idea of XXXistan was getting more attractive every minute.

"You may think the Poopalot is just silly, daddy—just another "stuffy", another cuddly toy. But, no."

"No?"

"No. It walks, it talks, it purrs—"

_It poops..._

"—It learns your name! And it morphs."

"Morphs."

"Into a stainless steel robot with weapons integrated into its eyes and hands!"

_Oh._

"It's not a toy. It's, it's—a status symbol." Her voice dropped a little. "It's web-connected, Ranger. It does—Facebook! _And_ Twitter!" she whispered.

The cab driver was eying me in his mirror. He was happy to pick up a child alone but not so happy when I appeared and got in with Julie. I suppose our resemblance—and Julie's way of calling me _Daddy_, in her chiding thirteen year old voice, kept the man from calling 911 and asking for the perv squad. Either that, or—I glanced at his hack license—Mohammed Imhad wasn't exactly as legal as he could be. I barked out, "What's your problem, goat spawn cur?" which is _asshole _in Pashto. The Afghan driver jumped visibly and sped up, hurtling us down crowded Fifth Avenue, eyes glued to the windshield.

Julie said, "What?"

I shrugged. If Zoë were here she'd be babbling away to the guy in his own language. It's creepy. Luckily Julie only speaks English and Spanish like a normal Miami kid.

We finally arrived at the Times Square flagship megastore Toys R Us.

We fought our way in.

We fought our way back out an hour and 34 minutes later.

Victorious.

And then it happened. A man darted from the mob of shopping-frenzied humanity (tourists, geez...why can't they Christmas shop in Oshkosh?). He made a grab for the shopping bag clutched in Julie's hand. The bag tore open and the pink and black striped Poopalot (bu_tton of authenticity in its ear!_) tumbled to the dirty sidewalk. The man made a grab, Julie made a grab. I shoved her behind me and pulled my backup gun—smaller caliber, okay? I took a page from Steph's repertoire and shot the thief in the foot.

He went down hard, yelling his fool head off. _What kind of cretin accosts a little Goth princess and her daddy anyway? An idiot._

Cops appeared instantly, just as soon as the action was over. "What happened, what happened, drop the gun drop the gun! Now-now-now!" I tucked Poopy under my gun arm, and with my left hand I fished out my universal federal undercover credentials, held them over my head. I said, "On the job."

"What happened?" yelled the cop. He was pumped with adrenaline and screaming. I could hear sirens too, background music.

Julie elbowed me aside and told the cop, "Daddy just shot a bad guy."

"Call it in, Carlucci, see if this guy is legit."

Toys R Us security came out to see what was happening. Julie stormed over to them, said, "That man tried to steal my little sister's Poopalot!"

"Your sister poops a lot? Huh?"

"No! It's a freakin' toy. We stood on line for almost two hours! And it cost four hundred dollars! Now go get me a new bag for it. Now!"

She stamped her foot in the black Doc Martens, added her famous smile and the man hustled off. I reached over and held her hand.

We watched paramedics bandage up the thief's foot while the cops clamped cuffs on his wrists. I said to the cop on the phone, "Try the mayor. He'll vouch for me."

"Yeah, right."

"Here—I have him on speed dial." I offered my business cell phone. "Or wait, how about the chief of police...he's in here somewhere." I squinted at the tiny screen in the suddenly bright sunlight.

The ToysRUs guy came out, followed by a store manager who had a new shopping bag for Julie. I reached under my arm, made to drop Poopy back into safety. And the thief burst into tears.

We all turned and stared at him.

I nudged him with my toe. "What?"

In a mixture of bad English and muddled Armenian the man said he'd stolen the doll for his daughter. Blah blah blah.

"Yeah, right," we chorused. Cute.

"Please." He held up his handcuffed arms and begged.

"Don't grovel, man," I said. His eyes widened with shock, hearing his language come from my mouth. Had me pegged as rich clueless American? Shit, the gunshot in his toe should have given him a hint.

Now the crowd around us went, "Aaaww." And, "Oooooh." Nothing like a NYC sob story.

I waved over the Toys R Us guy, the manager. He had a plastic ID on his lapel and wore a cheap suit. Jackson Wankawski. I handed him my card. I said, "Get the guy's name and his kid's name. And get the kid a Poopalot doll." I added a handful of hundreds."Keep the change."

The cop snickered. "Gonna have to deliver that to Riker's, sir." Riker's Island is the local lock-up, the jail, in New York City.

I turned on him and he quailed. "It's Christmas. No changes will be filed. Will they?"

The other cop closed his cell phone and returned my credential wallet. "No sir. I mean yessir. Whatever you say."

"Uh huh."

"You are free to go, Mr. Manoso. Enjoy the rest of your day in New York City. Uh, the mayor and the cheif send their regards."

I gave them a curt nod, turned to the thief who was now on a gurney headed for the hospital, I guess. I said in Armenian, "Merry Christmas."

He replied, "I am a Muslim, mister."

I sighed. "Merry Christmas anyway."

Julie and I walked away in silence. After a block or two she turned to me, said, "Feel better now? You got to shoot someone."

"Yeah."

"I'm hungry, daddy. You wanna get pancakes? Waffles, maybe?"

"It's 3 PM."

"And your point is?"

"Oh okay."

... ... ...

**When we got back to Trenton** we found Steph and Zoë and Britta, Zoë's nanny, and Monster, Zoë's bodyguard, and Ella all glued to the local tri-state news. Steph looked up at me when I kissed her cheek. She said,"Big ruckus in Times Square."

"Hmmm." I did my best blank face while Julie tried to sneak by with the distinctive ToysRUs shopping bag. But as she sidled by, a commercial came on and Zoë saw her. And the bag.

"Oh! That's for me? Right? Yes it is! I am sure it is. Oh boy you got the Poopalot! Didn't you, didn't you!"

"Uh," said Julie and I.

''But I don't really _need_ a Poopalot! Even though they are very cool and amazing...cos I have Killer—" She held up her chubby pug dog, her arms clasped around his fat tummy, little legs dangling sadly, little face set to _mournful_, "—who is awesomely much cuter!"

"And poops a lot," muttered Monster.

"And then daddy caused the ruckus! For a Poopalot!" Zoë cracked up laughing.

Julie scowled and whispered to me, "Can I just shoot her _now_?"

"No," I said_. Merry Christmas, everyone. Ho frickin' Ho. _

_

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__part two VERY soon...Sunday? enjoy_

**Reviews would be fun! Awesome. Appreciated. And incentive to post Mercenary Ranger's next story...maybe Jane's too. But you all need to let me/us know! hugs, sunny**.


	13. Chapter 13 Ranger's Epilog Part Two

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_Jane's Dilemma_

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A/N: For those of you who felt Jane's story needed more info...and more Lester face time, Tuck hopes to write the sequel someday. And she'll tell Jane and Lester's story, since it is her tale to tell. As always, my stories are really about Ranger, everyone else is-back-up. Background? Thank you for reading our story! We hope you enjoyed it.

love

sunny d.

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Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas ~ Part 2

**********__******************Ranger's Epilog

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**''Lancelot! Lalalala-LAAAnce-a-lot! The Pooooh-pa-lot!** He's stripey like an **ocelot!** I love **him** a lot, a lot, my pretty, pretty Poopalaaaaaaht!'' she sang tunelessly.

"What the fuck?"

Grouchy guy with cornrowed hair wearing cargo pants and a grey hoodie stood across the room and glared.

"Uncle Anthony! You're home!"

"Sort of."

The little girl hurled herself into his arms. Obligingly he caught her, hoisted her up into his arms and gave her a big hug. He didn't wince at all.

Her skinny little monkey legs wrapped around his waist. She gave him a big smacking kiss on the cheek, then sniffed. "Eeeew. You don't smell too nice, Uncle Anthony."

"Uh..."

"I hope Santa got you some nice shave stuff, like boy perfume for Christmas!" The child wriggled down. The man allowed himself a sneaky pained grimace and sleepily watched the little girl run over to the enormous twenty foot tree that stood in his mother's two story ceilinged living room. The tree was sparkly gold and silver and faded red against the deep pine green. Everything else in the room was white. Except the white nightgowned child who had rosy red cheeks and wild black curls. And the ugliest god-awful neon pink and black striped stuffed toy imaginable. Zoë had a thing for white, frilly ankle length Wendy—like in _Peter Pan_?—nightgowns.

No rational explanation for the ugly pink and black creature though.

The kid flopped down and rummaged under the tree, came up with a small nicely wrapped present. She crooked a finger at the man who went obligingly to her side. He sat next to her by the big tree, same tree they'd always had since he was a child himself. That seemed like a long time ago, a long, long eons-type time since he'd been four. Or six, or ten.

''Mommy asked Santa to get this for you. She says it's why you smell yummy." She set the box in his lap.

''We should wait for your mom, baby. And your daddy.''

''They're asleep.''

"Yeah, well, it's really early. Or late."

The child craned her neck around to look at his mom's white grungy-chic, French country clock on the mantel. It was half hidden by pine and holly and old silver mercury glass ornaments and dozens of white pillar candles. But the little girl said, "It's four forty-seven." Then, "Did you just get home?" A bit of scold in her tone.

He smiled. "Yeah."

''You missed Christmas. You missed Santa and presents and dinner with mommy's family, even Aunt Valerie and the Clown were there..."

"Oh too bad," he yawned.

"And you missed Christmas dinner, Aunt Olivia makes the best Christmas dinner in the whole world."

"I know, honey. She's my mom."

"And she was sad."

"Why?"

"I think she missed you."

"I missed her too. All of you." He had taken the solo op, one of Ranger's deep black jobs, so that Ranger could spend Christmas with this little girl and Steph and Julie and—and, _family._

Exhaustion washed over him. His mother's home had bleached white—well, ivory—heart-pine floors but in this room the cold wooden floor was covered with a soft hand-tufted white wool rug. He succumbed to temptation and stretched out by the Christmas tree. Closed his eyes. Pain and fatigue swamped him; he drifted.

Almost asleep he felt something nudged under his cheek. Zoë was stuffing a velvet throw pillow under his head. He moved enough to accept the offering. The gift box was twitched out of his lax grasp. The child whispered, "You can use this later." A soft cloud, a cashmere throw, floated over his cold tired body. Then silence.

_Clunk._ He opened an eye. Zoë was setting down a glass of milk and a plate of beautiful cookies, on the edge of the hearth nearby. "For if you wake up and feel hungry," she whispered. Then something was tucked into his arms. Other eye opened and he glanced down. "Poopalot will guard you and sleep with you."

"Uh."

"Just don't push any of his buttons. He shoots real bullets."

"Yeah, I know how that is."

"Real toy bullets, I mean."

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Uncle Anthony."

"Merry Christmas, baby."

He fell into an empty pit of sleep. After a few minutes, his three little pug dogs, Rosie, Alfonso, and Popeye, waddled into the room. They snuffled up the cookies and lapped up the milk that they efficiently spilled. They were a little afraid of the Poopalot but they loved the sleeping man dearly...so they courageously nudged Poopalot onto their charmed midst, snuggled up against the young man like little sacks of warm furry cement. And all was peaceful on the morning after Christmas.

**the end**


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